


On Ruin Road

by darylfiend



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Cigarettes, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Kink, Oral Sex, Sasha's Alive and I Love It, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 83,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darylfiend/pseuds/darylfiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Jesus go on a supply run, and do a little bonding on the all-day road trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Long Ruined Road

"Nah. Not again. Not him." Daryl flicked ash into the carved crystal dish between two glasses of half-spent ice, shaking his head.

Rick leaned in close and low. "If you won't go that's fine. But if you think I oughta let him go alone-"

"Not alone, then.” Daryl leaned forward, hushed and pleading, not wanting to wake Judith, or let Michonne hear him. “Send Eugene with him. Sasha. Tara. Send someone new. He knows where it is. Heck, you take him.” He sat back in his chair, agitated. “I'll head east or somethin', track down some of those cattle we saw last week. Or stay here, watch Judith while Carl trains," Daryl was clearly grasping for straws. He smashed his butt out, leg jostling.

Rick searched the hunter's wild glare, lips taut with skepticism. "They're all busy, and I’m tied up here too. It was your idea, the two of you, and he insists on driving. You came back with a lot of helpful stuff. You know the ins and outs, and you seemed alright with him then. What's changed? Are you ok?"

Daryl fumed, fidgeting with his glass, swiping at the condensation with a thumb as he rotated it in his soft, calloused hands. Ice was rationed so everyone could enjoy a little now and then, and rarer still was the scotch Rick had invited him by to share. If only it hadn't been a loaded offer, a disguised meeting with upper management about a run Jesus had so generously volunteered him for. Without asking. He was probably overreacting, but the fact that Rick hadn’t even thought to mention it until now had just set him off. 

"I’m fine. It’s fine, I just don't get it." He chewed, fondling the last smoke in the pack. He tucked it back into his pocket. 

Rick's lips twisted, attempting to remain anything but a smirk. He topped up Daryl's drink. "Get what?" 

"You, tryina’ set me up with him." He was pink-faced, but dead serious. He almost looked a little bit hurt. 

Rick scoffed and raised his hands. "I'm not- that's not what- Daryl. Listen. You can’t stay jealous of Michonne forever. She made a move. You didn’t." Daryl scoffed, rolled his eyes so hard his head fell back. "You're still my best friend, my brother. I wouldn’t try to embarrass you like that."

"Pff. Then how's everyone else gettin' the wrong idea? Givin' him the wrong idea? Can’t even talk to him without people whispering, whole damn town’s actin’ like it’s fuckin’ middle school. YOU started this," he glared into obscenely mischievous grey-blue eyes, kicking the sherriff's shin under the table. 

Rick’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re being paranoid. That wasn’t my intent. You work well together, and I trust him more than anyone else to watch your back. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Daryl, and he cares. That much is obvious.”

Daryl looked mildly mortified. "He does not, his face is just like that. He's gettin' too comfortable here. I don' trust him." Daryl withered under his own lies, clamming up. He'd already said too much. He was an open book to Rick, always had been. He shoulda just agreed to the run without a damn word.

Rick raised his eyebrows with a slow shrug, turning his attention to the bottle and pouring some into his own cup to round off the melting ice. "Well, if you could find it in your heart to tolerate him for one last run, bring back those water filters, purifiers, any medical supplies you can get your hands on, we could really use it. We went through a lot, dealing with Negan. You mentioned drinking water, too, and if that cafeteria's still all locked up? Bring all the weapons and tools you want. Take the Ford, so it's less of a squeeze." Rick handed him a list and clinked his glass against Daryl's before he finished his drink. 

Daryl grunted, stuffing it into the pocket on his vest. "Sure's hell ain't ridin' bitch again." 

"Let him down gently," Rick solemnly teased, and dodged the cork that was chucked at his head. 

Daryl didn't find any of it funny. He knocked back the last of the smoky amber spirits. "Whatever. Ass." 

________

 

"Always been an all-or-nothin' kinda guy, I guess, an’ he's been on a bit of a losing streak. He means well, that’s always what gets him in trouble. Go easy on him. Be patient. If things get too risky, don’t let him do anythin’ stupid.” Maggie spoke so only Jesus could hear her while she winched down the fuel, extra rucksacks and a duffel bag of rations, weapons and tools in the bed of the truck. In one graceful move, she shut the tailgate, turned and gave him a terse shoulder pat as she left. “I’m takin’ your car back to Hilltop, but I’ll be back to pick you up in a few days. Good luck.”

“Alright. Thanks.” Paul was left standing alone in the haunting mist of pre-dawn, fistful of maps in one gloved hand and keys in the other. Cardinals and mountain doves broke in the day. A single drop of sweat crept down his spine before the scuffing of boots broke his reverie. Daryl and Eugene approached, voices low. 

When he saw Jesus, he looked past him immediately with a grunt, signaling the end of their conversation. Daryl thrust his black duffel bag into Eugene's arms and made a beeline for the chain-link gate to open it, leaving The Mullet staring at Jesus. "Mornin’." 

"Morning." Jesus nodded and took the bag from where it floated in Eugene's grasp and hoisted it into the truck. Eugene took his post by the gate, rifle down, and waited as Daryl tucked into the passenger side of the cab and shut the door. The truck started and rolled out of Alexandria, tail lights fading into the fog before the double gate rattled shut behind them.

________

 

Paul did an expert job of keeping his eyes off his passenger in the first hour of quiet they shared. The low visibility had created a suspenseful crawl for a few miles, but the fog broke up and lifted as soon as sunlight cut across the tree-tops. Normally the silence made him uncomfortable, but Daryl seemed peaceful as he watched the forests, fields, and occasional grasping cadavers roll by. The book of compact discs to which Paul had assigned him lay unopened in his lap. They slowed into a left turn onto a gravel road, with a single pair of tracks worn to the oiled dirt and dimpled with smooth potholes. Daryl looked over at him.

“Detour,” Paul reminded him, and Daryl remembered the snarl of wrecked semis that had been easier to pass on his bike. 

“Oh. Yeah. Good call.” He opened the book of tunes and turned the leaves over slowly, recognizing very little. Anything he did was something his dad or Merle had played unrelentingly during the musical dictatorship of his youth. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really have much of a musical identity to call his own. Was just one more thing he never had time to care about. “You haul this everywhere you go?” He weighed the hefty binder in his hands. Seemed a bit much.

Paul shrugged. “It was just gathering dust in my car. Driving gets boring, and you aren’t much of a talker, no offense.”

“These all yours?”

“Some are, most of them aren’t. I grab whatever I find.”

The naked discs with markered labels at the back gave him pause. Paul’s handwriting was unexpectedly naive, if these were indeed his. He slipped one out labeled birthday mix 2006. The bottom surface was cobwebbed with fine scratches, but none looked too deep. Paul did a double take as he fed it into the slot on the dash. 

“Oh, no. Daryl, why…” His furrowed brow begged his co-pilot to pick something else, but Daryl let it load with a wry shrug and wedged the binder between their seats. “I’m sorry in advance,” Paul mumbled. 

Well, now he had to hear it. Daryl corrected the equalizer that Rick loved to fuck up, adjusted the volume and returned to his scenery. A few of the electronic tracks were a little bit jarring, and the whole thing was an odd mix of melancholy acoustic songs and electronic music. Paul actually skipped a few before they could even start. Daryl didn’t really mind anything he hadn’t heard before, and the lyrics were good, but feeling Paul marinate in his embarrassment was worth every second of it. 

________

 

“It was the French. They were the last ones researchin’ this shit before the networks went down.”

Paul blinked. “Where’d you hear that?” 

Gentle, round eyes were pinned on him while he spoke. Daryl shook his head as he replayed that day in his mind’s eye, gaze set on his fidgety hands, then looked out over the over the bridge where they'd parked for their breakfast. “Near Atlanta. CDC. We were… when it shut down, when the generators ran outta fuel, it was rigged to blow. Barely made it out.”

“Just barely? Didn't they know that would happen? They didn’t send you away with copies of their research, or anything?" 

“No ‘they.’ Just one guy left. The rest died, either taken by fever or paintin’ the walls with their brains. He said this would be it. That this was our ‘extinction event.’" He shook his head. "Bull-shit. People adapt. We’re still here, and we want to keep trying, as long as we can. That was what Lori said." He picked a piece of smashed protein bar out of the wrapper he held and chewed it.

"Rick's wife? So this was a while back?"

He swallowed, nodded. "Yeah. So I guess this scientist wanted to put us all down by lockin’ us in there, with him. Like it was the merciful thing to do.” Daryl was agitated just revisiting the scenario, and ready to drop the subject. He felt hung over just thinking about it. Paul put a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

Daryl shrugged it away gently, but he saw the genuine sympathy on his face and hated him for being so naturally earnest. Gave him a fucked up feeling in his gut.

Paul went back to forking pineapple chunks out of a can. “So, this disease. Were they anywhere near a cure?" 

"Nah. Didn’t even know if it was viral, bacterial, fungal... whatever it is, the fever’s painful, unstoppable. Once your adrenals rupture, you’re basically gone. Long gone, by the time it takes over.” 

Paul felt his appetite wane. "Yeah. We realized that much." Paul glanced once more at the map, started the truck and moved on. "Twenty minutes and we should be there."

Daryl couldn’t stomach any more food, so he folded the loose wrapper over the rest of the bar and jammed it into the pocket on the door. This was why he wasn’t much for words; with so much gone from their lives, there wasn’t much to talk about that didn’t dredge up a whole load of baggage with it. His eyes stung, his throat burned, his brother's ravaged corpse still leered hungrily in the back of his mind, like he was right there. Had his wounds or the fever taken him first? He still wondered if there hadn’t been some spark of Merle behind those bloodshot eyes; could be anywhere now. He waved away the canned fruit that Paul offered, who placed it in the cup holder and returned his hands to the wheel.

"You can smoke if you want, I don’t mind," Paul added, as an aside. Daryl cracked his window and took him up on it immediately. No point in saving his last smoke if this could be his last chance to enjoy it.

________

 

Breathless, bloodied and shaken to the core, Jesus fumbled with the ignition while Daryl swung into the passenger side, slamming his door as the engine roared to life. They tore out, leaving a loose gaggle of snarling walkers in their dust, the truck’s bed packed high with loot and laced down beneath a tarp. 

Maybe they had been greedy. Once they’d reached the sports centre, their incursion had been reasonably clear of danger until the last cartload. Daryl would be kicking himself if he wasn’t already sprawled in his seat, being murdered by the stitch in his side. 

He’d been right about the archery sets they found in the shed with the large target painted on its doors. He hadn’t guessed that the shack next to it would be packed with starved and shriveled bodies, along with the gardening tools they didn’t-quite-need-but-wouldn’t-hurt-to-grabbed. Should’ve known better by the way it was chained shut. They should’ve knocked before clipping the chain, at least.

He looked over at Paul, whose saucer-eyed face seemed pale and waxy, fixated on the road, chest still rising and falling as the adrenaline waned. He wanted to apologize. Rick had been right. They had worked well together. For all the time and effort he’d spent avoiding the man in Alexandria, outside the gates again everything felt a whole lot easier. They both took the job seriously; neither said too much or took any risks, for the most part.

Paul noticed him staring, and did a bit of a double-take. A small laugh escaped him and he relaxed noticeably. “You always make that face after killing a pack of walkers?”

Daryl growled as he straightened. “No.” He stretched his shoulder after shrugging his crossbow onto the floor, having just realized he’d been laying on it. His left hand kneaded his right arm somberly. “Still off my game, I guess.” 

“Shit.” There was a sudden sideways lurch as Paul took a turn too fast and nearly hit an overturned jeep. Daryl clutched at the door after slamming into it, frowning as they rumbled over some debris and walker remains. They slowed as they approached a long, rusted snarl of wrecked vehicles. Semis and tankers bridged the ditch from the steep shoulders and into the woods on either side. They’d had to dismount his bike just to guide it through the wreckage the last time they came this way.

“We passed the old road back there.”

Paul swallowed, and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. Forgot.” He stopped and cut the engine. “We need to fill up.” The needle was still hovering above empty, but Daryl assumed he needed a moment to get his head together. It wasn’t an ideal place to refuel.

They scanned in all directions before getting out. Daryl covered him, putting down a few trapped wreck victims with his knife while Paul dug the gas can out of the back and topped up the tank. Before too long they had backtracked to the long dirt road, beginning to feel optimistic that they might make it home alive with their bounty. 

________

 

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. The silence was pressing Daryl more heavily than it normally would. One thing he’d noticed was that Paul often slowed when they passed a walker, long enough to get a look at it. Some drew his curiosity more than others. 

He’d pointed out other side-roads on the map that would be less slow and bumpy, but Paul rebutted that it would be safer to travel the route they had just cleared this morning. The sun was directly in their eyes, the cab of the truck smelled like pineapple and oatmeal with a hint of walker gore. It was hot, but at least the humidity kept the dust down. The cicadas were so loud he could barely hear the popping of gravel under their tires; walkers probably wouldn’t either. An empty water bottle rolled on the floor and bumped against the door, next to a mess of bloodied napkins they’d used to wash up.

“Hey.” He swatted Paul’s arm. “Stop fer a sec.” 

Paul pulled over and turned to him, a curious look on his face that gave Daryl pause.

“I uh… gotta piss.” He bailed, grabbing the unfinished breakfast bar on his way out so he could chuck it into the woods. He’d never been a big fan of squirrel food.

Paul gathered the unfinished fruit that was too hot to trust after sitting in their parked vehicle, reluctantly gathered a few more handfuls of trash which he stuffed into a plastic bag, then got out and shoved it into the back. 

Daryl scuffled up next to him just as he pocketed his gloves and unzipped his pants at the opposite side of the road, facing the open fields. 

“I uhh…” 

Paul looked over and raised a brow. “You mind?” 

“Oh.” Daryl glanced at Paul’s dick in his hand to his face and bounced as quickly as he’d strode over, scratching his head awkwardly. 

“Sorry. I can drive if ya’ want, was all.” He rifled around for more water, face crimson. 

“I’ll be fine.” He shook off the last drop and readjusted his pants, eyes narrowing over the scorched field before he grabbed a small pair of binoculars from the driver-side door. After a moment, he put them back, and climbed back into his seat. Daryl handed him a cool bottle of water and he took it with gratitude, taking a long drink.

“You lose someone out here?” Daryl’s voice was small. The scout’s gloved hand paused over the ignition when he caught the concerned openness in his shrouded eyes. 

“What? No, I… lost almost everyone at the start.” He turned the key and let the truck idle so he could eject the disc and carefully put it away. “A few of our survivors, when they found us, we’d almost mistaken them for walkers.” He turned off the stereo, the whispered roar of the radio’s static ceased. “Some were mistaken for dead. They didn’t survive us.”

Daryl unconsciously smoothed his hair back, feeling the scar that graced his temple. He hadn’t thought of Andrea in a while. “So now you gotta make sure?” 

Blue. Daryl’s eyes were a vivid stormcloud blue. Paul memorized the unobstructed view. “That’s my job, isn’t it?” He put the truck in gear and rolled forward.

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“M’sorry, ‘bout the mess back there.” 

Paul furrowed. “Why? Don’t be. Shit happens. You handled it better than I did.” 

Daryl chewed his thumb as they bumbled along.

“Sorry I screamed like a girl.”

Daryl laughed a little. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Paul looked over at him and caught a hint of a smile, which faded as those stormy eyes raked down and up his body. He slowed the truck to a crawl. He just had to ask. If he was going give up on this awkward courtship, pack his bags and head back to Hilltop, he’d at least take the shot first. “You know, Daryl, they aren’t expecting us back for a while.” 

________

 

Paul clambered over the console to the passenger side, dragged roughly by the fistful of hair at the back of his skull. Daryl sucked at his tongue and chased it past the scout’s teeth, pulling the slighter man closer. 

“Mmh, shit, Daryl…” His dick was so uncomfortable in the heavy fabric of his cargo pants, throbbing angrily in the heat and pressure building between them.

“Hell’s with all the layers, man…” Daryl laughed breathily while he pulled Paul's hat off and tossed it onto the dash.

“Harder to chew through.” Paul gave his lower lip a playful bite and kissed him some more. He groped at the hardening flesh straining beneath the hunter's Wrangler™ jeans, without asking. 

Daryl whined and sucked in air with a wince, his hips rose into the touch. 

Paul cautiously placed his knees outside Daryl's as he righted himself above the hunter. He threaded his fingers through Daryl's fine oily hair, peppering his lips and beard with kisses, other hand hooking a finger over the waistband of his jeans and dragging it along the belt. Daryl stiffened, his gut recoiling from the touch. Paul noticed, smiling gently at the hunter’s ticklish reaction. His head hit the truck's roof with a small bang when he pulled back to undress, and he cringed apologetically as their advances came to a temporary halt. 

“Heh. Y’okay?” Daryl gave him a kind-of almost-smile, and smoothed Paul’s dark ash-blond hair. 

Paul took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding as he leaned forward, his forehead landing gently on Daryl's. He knew this would be the hunter's first time in a long time; he was so sensitive. He seemed into it, but he was good at hiding how he felt. His free hand trembled slightly as it skated up Paul's leg to rest at his hip, and his gaze still darted away every time Paul caught it. 

"Hey. Daryl." Big, glacial green eyes sought the hunter's overcast blues. "Are you scared?" He teased, half-jokingly.

Daryl's eyes ducked out of sight for a moment. "Kinda," he laughed nervously, still trying to sound butch though. Slight, saintly hands pushed the straying locks off his brow, tucking them away.

"Should I stop?" 

Daryl looked a little surprised, and then a little disgusted. "The hell? Fuck no. No." 

A humored smile split Paul's face wide. "Sorry, I just mean, if we're going too fast-" Daryl's lips cut him off, stamped a firm kiss at the corner of his mouth, sought out something deeper. Paul hummed and returned the smooch. 

"Want it now." Daryl's stormy glower challenged Paul to lead him further, Daryl was giving him such lewd look. 

“Anything you want, Dixon.” He licked his lips, fingertips skimmed over the strong, weathered torso beneath him.

"Christ," Daryl muttered, cupping the smaller man's cheek and thumbing his lower lip as though admiring the cuff of a fine silk shirt. He undid his belt buckle and popped the button beneath it, then he grabbed Paul's hand and trapped it against his groin with his own thick palm, hips grinding into the smaller man's palm as he leaned in close, lips a breath away from Paul’s. “You want this too, right?”

Paul felt his face getting hot. He nodded, his pupils as wide and hungry as the hunter’s. Daryl's lips melted into his with a foggy, wet kiss. Tongues clashed sensually while he kneaded Daryl’s bulge and then dragged his nails over the thick, firm ridge in his pants. The cab of the truck was filled with breathy, succulent gasps and the soft creaking of springs in the old vinyl-and-velour passenger seat. Daryl's hands roamed beneath Paul’s coat and slid to his hips, where he gripped and pulled the man's pelvis flush against his. 

"Hah. Shhhit." Paul braced his hands on Daryl's broad shoulders as his frame was lurched upwards in his lap, he moaned when his turgid cock crushed against Daryl's. It felt like fireworks, his long-neglected cock was already buzzing with sensation and ready to cum. 

Daryl relished the sight of the scout coming undone, hair askew, jaw slack. He kissed the man's cheek, the soft skin below his ear, the warm corridor down his milky neck that pooled in the dip of his clavicle, where Paul’s agile hands rose to begin unbuttoning his shirt. 

He craned his neck, baring it to Daryl’s bristly lips, shucking his coat, belts, and vest, and then starting on the buttons of Daryl's shirt. 

Soft hands roamed over Paul’s waist, sides, and back admiring his slender, cut physique through the thin, damp cotton, smoothing down his spine and wedging into his snug pants to grope his butt. 

Paul’s hands crept inside the open shirt to slide his palms over Daryl’s broad, rugged chest, moaning as the hunter planted kisses along his clavicle. He grew tantalizingly still as Paul’s fingertips traced spirals around his nipples, and Paul felt the man’s cock twitch in his jeans when he thumbed the plump, peaked flesh. He gave a shuddering sigh and shifted his hips in a small arc, Daryl gasped hotly against his throat in response to the friction. Paul pinched, and Daryl’s gruff gasp was an octave higher than he’d expected.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous.” Paul’s wicked grin morphed into a deep kiss, Daryl kneaded his ass as he continued grinding their hips together, pleasure mounting dangerously fast, the strangled moans deep in Daryl’s throat not helping any. 

They broke apart, gasping, Paul and Daryl both fumbling at once to remove the hunter’s jeans. Daryl scooted lower and reached around him to untie the cords at each ankle and kicked off his boots. Paul blindly sought and wrenched the lever at the side of the seat, and the backrest fell to near-horizontal. He pushed his lover into a reclined position with some more aggressive kissing. 

Daryl shimmied his pants to his ankles and pulled one foot free, starting on Paul’s pants, face red as he finished with the belt and buttoned fly and slid his fingers beneath the hem, pushing the canvas back over his perfect round ass and down the backs of his firm thighs. Paul’s knees wedged Daryl’s apart, and where his hips had hovered to let the man slip his pants down with ease, he lowered himself, now barely separated by their worn boxer-briefs. Tongues and half-clad bodies rolled languidly together, frotting in a sweaty haze of arousal. 

The friction of fabric on fabric was so intense Daryl could feel it in his teeth. His head fell to the side, agape and muttering curses, and Paul’s lips took to the adorable ear that poked out between strands of fine dark chestnut hair, teeth tickling the soft skin. Daryl tensed more with each roll of Paul’s hips, pawing at his ass and back, breath hitched. When Paul started gently pinching and twisting his nipples he nearly gagged.

“Paul…ah-” a whimper caught in his throat as he came, fingers balled in the fabric gathered at the base of Paul’s spine, clutching him close. Paul pressed down on the pulsing cock with his, barely rocking his hips, exhaling against his sensitive ear, feeling every twitch with his own. 

“Oh fuck, yes, Daryl, that’s so hot,” he whispered directly into his ear while Daryl fussed beneath him, an awkward, over-stimulated mess of shame and bliss and ragged panting. Paul paused as Daryl came down from his climax, petting his chest and cupping his cheeks.

“Yeah…” Daryl gave a bewildered laugh beneath the curtain of Paul’s hair. “Don’t stop.” The hunter’s eyes grabbed his and held, begging, breath heavy, hair plastered to his flushed, sweaty face.

Paul’s eyes darkened as he smiled sweetly. “If you insist.” He brushed a damp strand away from Daryl’s mouth and gave him lingering, chaste kiss before moving down his body. 

Long silky hair slid between Daryl’s fingers, awestruck as he watched the beautiful man descend, his beard leaving a tingling trail down his belly. This was actually happening. The next world was showing him kindness, for once. He silently thanked whatever twisted fates had brought him to this very moment.

Paul peeled back his briefs and took Daryl’s messy cock into his mouth while he pushed the underwear past his knees, breathing heavily through his nose. He freed one leg and pinned his knee to his chest, his soft lips and tongue surrounding the half-hard cock and sliding to the base, sucking it clean with a gentle smack. He hadn’t thought he could be any more aroused, but the taste on his tongue and the way Daryl squirmed was just too much, thick worn hands grasped at his head, his arm. Paul shouldered his other leg and shoved the other knee up. Those foxy eyes remained fixed on Daryl’s as he teased his hole with a flick of his tongue, then a slower lick, gradually soaking him with a mix of drool and cum. The hunter’s head fell back with a tremulous groan, his erection slowly throbbing back to life as Paul’s tongue dipped and swirled around his entrance. 

“Jesus, that’s filthy…”

“Mmhmm.” He pushed his tongue in deep, Daryl’s balls draped across the bridge of his nose. God, he smelled so good. Daryl keened and his tight hole twitched around the probing tongue as it fucked him. Once he was well-slicked, Paul went back to worshiping his cock, sucking wet kisses up the underside. 

“Ohh, fuck, Paul, your mouth…” Daryl gave a shocked gasp when he pushed a finger inside. Paul kept stroking Daryl’s cock with his other hand, tropical eyes smiling up at him as he swirled his pink tongue around the tip. 

“You taste so good, babe. Keep your legs spread for me.” He grasped the base of Daryl’s erection and started to suck the head, lashes lowered. “Try to relax,” he murmured.

Those amazing fucking eyes… His toes curled as he felt a second finger join the first to begin scissoring in his stretched hole, his own knuckles white where he gripped the bottoms of his trembling thighs. His whole body shook and relaxed when Paul’s hot mouth enveloped his shaft again. He rested his heels on the dash. There was a painful edge to every sensation since he’d already blown a load, but he wasn’t sure how long that would hold him back.

Paul removed his hand and forced his head down over the remaining gap, his throat constricted around the tip as he pressed his mouth toward Daryl’s groin. He took it all until his nose hit bone and his tongue slithered along the base, he gagged again and held it there, squeezing his eyes shut, kneading the drool that dribbled out into Daryl’s sack and then reaching down to pull his own eager dick free as he came up for air. 

“Shit, Paul, how the fuck,” he whimpered, his cock craved more. He could have wept, Jesus was so beautiful eating dick. Would Daryl look as hot from this angle? He began planning their honeymoon as a slow, burning climax began to pool between his legs. Paul bobbed languidly on his shaft and slowly twisted his fingers inside, stretching Daryl carefully, his shoulder moving as he stroked himself. Yeah, they’d make it to France somehow, save the whole fuckin’ world from this sorry mess, together. 

Lips popped off Daryl’s cock and fingers withdrew. Paul spat a small pool into his palm and began to push three fingers inside, working in slowly, pupils hungry and wide as he watched the archer’s face torn by pleasure, swollen, wet dick throbbing against his cheek. Daryl’s head fell back at the sight of those glistening lips, clenching his hole around the fingers that danced playfully inside of him.

“Jesus, I need you in me, right fuckin’ now,” Daryl rasped urgently. He slid his fingers into his black-gold locks as Paul crept up his body. Paul gripped his cock and lined it up with Daryl’s entrance, propped on an elbow above him.

“Push out a little while I push it in, ok?” Their lips reunited and Paul teased his hole with his dick, pressing forward and waiting, letting Daryl feel his own ass relax and gradually swallow the head. He kept the pressure light and steady, sinking slowly into the archer’s tight hole, groaning blissfully. 

Daryl hungrily licked the taste of fuck from his mouth, then yelped into it. Paul stopped. “Ah, shit.. sorry. Slow up a bit.” 

Paul shuddered. “I’m sorry, you feel so good… does it hurt?” 

“Nah, was just for a second. Feels so fuckin’ weird… good-weird.” Daryl hugged him close, kissed his pretty cheekbone as his stretched hole throbbed around the intrusion.

Paul eased back and nuzzled under his chin, sighing warmly against his shy neck, gently circling his hips to pivot his dick inside of Daryl as he waited for the hunter to relax. Soon he felt Daryl’s tunnel unfold and he began sliding deeper, and the man below him responded with a contented groan when he pushed past the inner tightness and sank home. 

The hunter went reverently silent as Paul’s dick soaked inside of him, his ass clenching curiously against the fullness. He slowly pulled out to the ridge, so slow his dick felt a mile long to Daryl, and pushed in once more. Daryl hooked his ankles behind Paul’s legs, lost in a blissful haze, releasing soft contented moans into his hair. Paul began rocking into him gently, making his own sweet chorus of moans and mewls as the pleasure mounted, muttering all at once how perfect and beautiful and good Daryl felt. Daryl stroked his hair, combing it off of his sweaty hot neck with his fingers, and kissed his temple. A fuzzy bliss was blossoming where Paul began to move faster inside of him, spreading up through his body and all the way to the tip of his cock. 

“Daryl, if you only knew,” he panted out through stuttered breaths. He chewed his lip, resting his forehead on Daryl’s clavicle. 

“Man, I know,” His voice was bounced by Paul’s motions, his whole frame jostled with each thrust of hips slamming against his ass. His raptured face pressed against Paul’s head, eyes shut tight, clutching his shoulders with one arm, the other snaked between them to pull on his dick. “Fuckin’ wanted you the moment we met, now cum for me, before I…”

Paul let out a broken cry as he unloaded deep inside, his cock spasming, warm cum pulsing out, flooding his insides as Daryl writhed around him. 

“Oh hell yes Paul, I can feel that,” The hunter rasped, he quickly pumped his cock a few times while his whole body tensed and shook and halted, shooting his load between them, cum painting his stomach and pooling in his belly button. 

“Shit, Daryl that feels so good, you're so hot,” Paul whimpered, struggling to give Daryl's vice-like hole a few more erratic thrusts to draw out the last of their orgasms, before laying on him with an exhausted sigh, empty and light and breathless, arms still crossed beneath the hunter’s broad shoulders, holding him, filling him. The heat was all-enveloping, drenched in sweat, hands soothing and salty lips touching, but neither wanted to part just yet.

________

 

A rapping on the hood of the car shook them both from their tangled slumber with the immediate fear of walkers, or worse, witnesses. Raindrops began pelting the vehicle, slowly at first, before a low rumble of thunder initiated a torrential onslaught. Paul relaxed, his hair wild, and breathed a low laugh, giving Daryl’s cheek one more kiss. 

Daryl retaliated with a gentle headbutt, then cranked down the window and let the relatively cool, wet air wash the musky miasma from the truck’s cab. 

Paul peeled himself off the hunter, a little bit wobbly. He hiked up his underwear and fished his pants from the heap of clothing at Daryl’s feet before climbing back into his seat. He kicked his door open and relieved himself onto the road before pulling his pants back on and then shutting it.

Daryl sorted through the mess on the floor, passing back what was Paul’s, finding his underwear way too wrecked to put back on and pulling up his jeans without it. He wiped his seat down with the wadded-up, faded black briefs, and flung them at Jesus instead. 

“Oh Daryl, how thoughtful,” he smirked coyly and tucked the pair into his coat. The hunter chuckled. He started the truck and they rolled onward, wipers in overdrive, to Alexandria, and hot showers, a perk he would miss back in Hilltop. 

He watched the bashful hunter straighten himself out, do up his shirt and check himself in the rearview mirror. 

“I’m going to miss you even more now,” he conceded quietly.

Daryl looked over, thoughtfully assessing him. “Nah. I’ll be by.” 

He fished out the last half of his smoke and lit it up, laid back in the fully reclined seat and put his feet up on the dash. Rain was falling through the open window, soaking his jeans, but he didn’t seem to care. From down there, all he could see was sky.

Paul reached over for his hand, and Daryl held it as they bounced and splashed through the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a quick fuck scene to entertain myself, but it sprawled a bit. I thought I'd share it since I've enjoyed so many contributions to this ship from the authors here over the summer, and wanted to enjoy the scenario before season 7 commences. I've never really written anything this long before (I know, it's short), and I'm sure it's a little OOC at parts. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!


	2. At the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl reminisces as they rest up in Alexandria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realised I had skipped over their first kiss.

After their truck slowed to a gentle stop, Daryl was shaken awake by the jarring rattle of Alexandria's gates. His stomach dropped when he realized their trip together had come to an end; he hadn’t caught himself drifting off. He returned his seat to its upright position and pulled on his boots, with a quick glance at Jesus, who was flashing an exultant Rick a thumbs-up as they rolled past him toward the storehouse. After a quick hug he left Rick to unload with Jesus, driven by an urgent need to change out of his damp clothes, achingly aware of the sticky mess that was starting to itch under his shirt.

 _That_ had happened. He stared down his reflection, examined his neck for any visible clues to what had transpired. No bruises, no scratches, no hickeys, surprisingly. He unbuttoned his shirt and found a few red blotches on his clavicle, causing his arms to prickle with gooseflesh. He opened his shirt all the way, and the reek of cum and sweat wafting out reminded him to slam and lock the bathroom door. 

He shared the house next to Rick’s with Eugene; they had their separate en-suites and a shared appreciation for silence and privacy, and yet it was still more space than he was used to. The large, covered back porch was his area with its bloodstains, fur and feathers, and Eugene had claimed the guest bedroom as a repository for computer parts, and something about a satellite project. They got on well enough; the presence of the other man ensured Daryl tidied up after himself for the most part, though both had a tendency to dress straight from the hamper until it was empty and their floors littered with gaunch; Eugene had slacked a bit on his military perfectionism. They even cooked for each other now and then. Some part of him kind of wanted to prove himself to the nerd, or at least offer him some quiet company. Losing Abraham to Negan had been devastating, and Rosita moving in with Tara left him feeling isolated. Out of everyone, he was the one Daryl spoke to the most. 

He peeled off his clothing and got into the shower before it had a chance to heat up, letting the shock of cold water flush away the fluttering anxiety that lingered in the wake of their adventure. He sat in the tub and laid his head back against the tile, soaping up a bit and wondering what exactly had come over him today. 

To be fair, Paul had always had this way of making innuendoes, and then playing them off whenever Daryl was too dense to pick up on them. This time Daryl couldn’t imagine why else anyone would want to dawdle out in the open when they had cargo to deliver. 

He’d thought himself clever for playing along. 

________

 

_You know, they’re not expecting us back for a while._

Daryl had cracked a smile, a sideways pull that was new to Paul. "What, ya wanna mess around?" 

Paul's brow rose, tongue in cheek as he pulled off the road next to an overgrown cattle gate. "I won't tell if you don't..." His eyes sparkled darkly as his mouth spread into a wily grin. 

Daryl's expression fell when he realized Paul was actually stopping the truck and not just messing with him. "Whoa, was kiddin," he shifted nervously, panic fluttered in his chest and he felt the heat rise in his face, his ears burning. 

Paul rolled his eyes, “Course you were. Well, I’m not.” He backed the truck’s tail end into the bush so they faced the field, with an easy view down the road in both directions. 

“What’re you doin’ then,” The hunter spat, completely on edge. 

"Having my way with you, of course," he did a shoulder check and straightened out. 

Daryl really hadn't thought through this game of gay chicken, but it suddenly dawned on him that maybe he had been willfully ignoring some of the nuances of their interactions. 

He put the truck in park and produced an overdramatic sigh. "You know, a wise man once told me: it’s best not to make threats you can't keep.” He peeled his gloves off again, amused by the hunter’s alarming shade of crimson; this could very well be a Dixonian threat display. 

Daryl watched him side-eyed, and if he had to guess, his expression was hinting at something between confusion and terror, narrowed eyes darted back and forth between Paul's. Why'd he have to be so damn cute? 

Paul laughed, breathy and soft with amusement. “I’m kidding, Dixon. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m trying to hook up with every cute guy I meet.” 

Daryl swallowed. “What?”

Paul moved closer and turned, reaching between their seats and fumbling blindly behind them for the cloth bag that held their day’s rations, “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I need a bite. Feeling a little light. You want something?” He untangled it from the heap of hastily-loaded longbows and beaten plastic quivers of practice arrows.

“Nah, I mean, sure, but, you are?" He cleared his throat and went quieter, "...gay, I mean?” His voice cracked a little. Wait, did Paul call him cute? 

His brow crinkled in astonishment. “Yeah? I, um, wow, I thought you knew. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me, right?” He fished an apple out for himself and dropped the bag in Daryl’s lap.

Daryl stared at the sack. He’d been too busy running from his own feelings to worry about what Paul was thinking, and now that he knew he felt a little confused. “No. I mean, I don' know. No one said nothin’ about it, not to me.” His family knew he wasn't much for gossip, and he’d always assumed any casual ribbing was the same kind of homophobic baiting he used to get from his pa. That, he could play off. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't really imagine Paul with a girl. Paul with another guy though, that wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. He pulled a bread roll from the bag and tore off a chunk big enough to stuff his gob for a minute. 

“Huh.” Paul looked puzzled. He could add this to his long list of clumsy ways to out himself. He took a clean pocket knife, quartered and cored his apple, and offered Daryl a piece. “Is it a problem?” 

Something in Paul's voice, a hint of tired sadness behind the straightforward honesty in his question, pulled at Daryl's gut. He shook his head. He took the apple from the tip of Paul's blade and held it between his teeth while he split the roll in half to share, then began to munch on it. “Never had a problem with anyone lovin’ someone.” 

Paul's face softened. Daryl usually dealt with difficult topics by turning them into some kind of joke, or disappearing entirely, but what he'd just said had been simple and sweet. Would the bounties of this day never cease? He picked up the binoculars and kept a casual watch on the road. The one walker that had been ambling about in the field saw a squirrel in the opposite woods and followed it away. 

Daryl was a little embarrassed that he'd said something so corny, but it had felt right. He didn't want Paul to think he'd been avoiding him just because he didn't like him, or hated gays or something. There was nothing problematic about Aaron and Eric, if anything they understood him better, they’d shown him kindness unlike anyone else. Everyone seemed to try to include him in their ways, while looking down on his. Knowing Jesus was more like them made him seem more approachable.

They ate in silence until Daryl broke in with a question. 

“You with anyone?” He felt his face redden again, but he was trying to push the hesitation aside. 

Paul took a slow breath as though he wasn't sure of the answer. “No. I was until recently; It got to be too much, but we parted on friendly terms.” 

Daryl’s brow quirked imperceptibly, “How’s that work?”

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged, "How do you just... love someone, and then not?”

How were these words even coming out of this loner’s mouth? Paul had half expected him to get out and walk home upon confronting the topic of his sexuality. To be fair, he didn’t exactly look relaxed. Maybe the aloof marksman was actually trying to connect with him? 

“Well, we still love each other… well, loved each other. It was the romantic side of things that didn’t really work out.” 

Daryl couldn’t really believe he was having this talk, but it was too late to tap out now. No one he’d known, in this world or the last, had ever really separated before, except Abraham, whom he made no attempt to rationalize. The people of the next world clung to one another like shipwreck survivors to flotsam, and Daryl didn’t really envision himself as being much different. Maybe that’s why he’d been treading water for so long, knowing he would never be able to bring himself to let go. “That happens?”

Paul was starting to wonder how naïve this man might be. He smiled sardonically. “Yeah, believe it or not, sometimes gay just ain’t enough.” 

Daryl turned his head away and snorted. “Didn't mean just gay stuff, just in general, Jesus.”

His mouth puckered, then he dug at a piece of apple skin stuck between his teeth with his thumbnail. "Uh. Well, we just, I don't know, didn't work. To start with, we're both tops."

"Tops?" His mouth was stuffed with bread, but he continued to engage like a champ.

Paul dragged his hand over his face. "Yeah, but besides that, he wanted an open relationship, because I was away so much. No idea who he'd planned to hook up with next but I really don't like to share, and I really didn't want to have to find out with whom I'd be sharing while I still had feelings for him." He heaved a deep sigh. 

Daryl chewed slowly, wiping the crumbs from his beard, processing that queue of information. Maybe he was just sunburned, but the redness in his face wasn’t fading. His throat burned a little imagining being put in that sort of dilemma. 

Paul wiped off his knife and sheathed it, taking the hunter’s stunned silence as an exit. "What about you? Any ladies you fancy in that posh little village of yours?” He drained his water bottle. 

“Haw.” Daryl smirked, like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. Now that he thought about it, there wasn’t a single woman he could imagine being with; all the ones he did get along with were kinda gay, or downright scary. “Nah, never really had anyone like that. Just hadn’t met someone special yet, y’know?” He sank a little in his seat, and suddenly his vest looked way too big for him. 

His soft expression twisted a dagger in Paul’s ribs. He smiled sadly. “I used to feel that way, too. Guess it’s easy to make that mistake, when the person you’re waiting for is someone you’ve yet to meet. Wishful thinking, I guess.” He busied himself putting their lunch bag away.

“That what this is?” the hunter mumbled under his breath into the heaped collar of his shirt, worrying at his horribly un-kept cuticles, picturing Paul with some beautiful man who already knew how to be gay. He hadn’t intended for Paul to hear, but.

Paul faced him when his butt returned to its seat, placed his elbow on the console and propped his chin on his fist. "If that's all you want it to be..." His brow quirked a little. "But if you do want me, wishing won't get you anywhere. You'll have to actually tell me." Paul eyed Daryl pointedly.

To hell with not panicking. Daryl shoved him away with a meaty jab to the shoulder and left the vehicle, slamming his door, and then paced for a minute, fingers laced on top of his head. When he hesitantly re-entered and sat down, Paul was slumped forward, forehead resting on the wheel. Daryl reached for his shoulder but hesitated, then fidgeted for a minute.

"Jesus?" 

Motionless. Daryl took a deep breath and gave his shoulder a nudge. 

"Paul." 

Paul couldn't resist the batman voice. He lifted his face and slumped back against the headrest. His eyes were slightly pink and glassy and wouldn't look at Daryl. “Sorry.” His voice was unbearably small.

“No.” Daryl cast his gaze downward in shame, and spoke to the road instead. “Dunno how to do this shit. Really don’ get what you’d see in me.”

Paul pushed out a breath, shaking his head in bemusement. “You know, you really should give yourself more credit. Your fam- Rick, Maggie, Michonne, everyone. I've been trying to get to know them all. They all love you, respect you, owe you their lives in some way, I know that much. I’d be honored to be among them, to call you a friend.” He sniffed, cleared his throat and straightened. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. You’ve made it more than obvious-” He reached for the ignition again but Daryl’s hand was on his wrist.

“You didn’t, Paul. Well, y'did sometimes, but that's not why I was avoidin’ ya.” When Paul lowered his hand to his knee he crossed his arms over his chest, fingers tucked in his armpits. 

“Why, then?”

Daryl’s leg jostled a bit, digging for the truth behind all of his anxiousness. “Just couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you, ‘bout what you did for us, what you lost cause of us.” 

He felt those stark ocean eyes glued to him, but continued shyly. “Feel guilty, like if we'd known more, if we'd worked with you, and had some patience... maybe we wouldn't have lost so many people. There’s no words for it. I get scared, and I always rush into shit, always fuckin’ up. I’m just a simple-minded piece o’ shit I guess.” Daryl's voice cracked but he forced himself to face him. “It’s not easy to find out you care about someone, knowin’ they might be gone someday.” 

Paul gave him a stuttered blink and hid a smile in his hand. “Are you saying you care about me, Daryl Dixon?” 

He shrugged, pursed lips twitching in a shy kinda-smile. “Dunno. Kinda’ figured if we got to talkin’, I might like you a lil’ more’n I wanna.” A calm washed over Daryl’s agitated body as he said it, maybe his anxious heart had finally exhausted itself, or maybe he felt unburdened by his half-concession.

Paul closed his eyes with a serene hum. "Well, I'm grateful for the talk. I hope you don’t like me too much just yet…" He felt a warm pressure on his arm and looked over, seeing Daryl's hand on his, melting his smile into mild surprise. 

The man looked away shyly, but his fingers spread and welcomed Paul's when he turned his arm and slipped his hand into Daryl's, interlocking his fingers with the significantly thicker ones.

Paul tilted his head near horizontal, searching for Daryl's face behind the curtain of shaggy brown hair. "You ok?" He gave his hand a squeeze.

Daryl squeezed his hand back and lifted his head into a nod, giving him a fragile smile. He leaned across the armrest, searching Paul's face. 

Paul held his breath, drawn toward him until their lips almost met. Daryl was the one to sway forward and close the gap. Paul's other hand slowly rose to cup his cheek, holding that fine mouth to his lips, brushed the backs of his fingers back along the hunter’s subtle jawline to grasp behind his neck. He tilted his head into the kiss, fingers drawing a delicate path around Daryl's neck to his collar, parting his lips as Daryl did, only to have him to pull back a breath and give him a sweetly stern stare down.

"I meant it, Paul, I ain't done this shit before, so don't laugh." 

His laughter rang like a bell. Daryl was the sweetest thing in this world, an angel sent from heaven, he’d decided. "There's no right way, Daryl, as long as this is what you want…"

Daryl leaned in for another, dark pools where the colour in his eyes once shone.

________

 

His hand smoothed absently over his torso until all of the slickness was rinsed away. He rubbed his face under the cooling shower. Still couldn’t believe that had happened. Still couldn’t believe he’d…

He'd honestly believed that Paul has just seen him as some bigot redneck that was only good for teasin', some hot-headed dumbass. Even when Paul had watched over him while he fought off a bad fever after his captivity, it was out of pity, or maybe guilt, or to have a captive audience, nothing more. But then again, Paul had never met Merle; he knew nothing of the Dixon reputation that had defined Daryl’s social sphere for his entire life, up until a short while ago. Maybe he really was just being open and kind?

Some part of him felt guilty. Paul didn’t know him at all. Paul would eventually find out how differently they’d been raised, and tire of his quirks and peculiarities and needs and insecurities. Paul was too perfect, too able, and Daryl felt he had tricked him into something with someone lesser, something broken. At least the sex had been good. There was no negative angle on that part. Good enough, for now, he hoped, until he could figure out the whole ‘being likeable’ thing. 

He shut the water off, realizing it had gone cold long enough to turn his lips blue; he must have been revisiting their roadside break for at least half an hour. He grabbed a towel, shaking it through his hair and down his body, trying to drag his mind back to the present. He’d been excited to show Aaron the target practice kit, and make sure Michonne got a few extra paydays and snickers bars. He’d wanted to set aside some of the baking powder and vegetable oil for Carol, too, for the next time he saw her. He could just get it later, he thought, as he rushed into a clean set of clothes.

 

Outside, Jesus and Rick walked together, each carrying a box. There was amiable chatter in the streets, the sky aglow in peach and lavender as birdcalls ushered in the dusk. Jesus had bargained himself a decent share of batteries and medical supplies, and he would return with them to Hilltop, though Rick insisted that he take more if he needed it. Of greater concern to Jesus was the need to finally clear the wreck from the road so they could get back faster, loot the rest of the cafeteria and scout more of the town; they’d barely scratched the surface before their truck was overflowing. There had even been a small convenience store which they’d left in it’s locked up state. Alexandrians had begun clearing the wreck from their side, but that project had been sidelined as other priorities came to pass. They agreed to have a look and come up with a plan tomorrow, and maybe even make a siphoning & scrap run out of it. 

Rick led Jesus to his home. “So, how was Daryl? Was his shoulder still bothering him?” 

Paul bit his lip, realizing he hadn’t been at all considerate of the injury earlier. “He was fine, actually. He’s not bad in a fight.”

“Sure disappeared quick. Not sure where he wants us to leave the archery stuff.” Rick fumbled with his screen door, carefully shimmying it open with his leg while encumbered by the box of toiletries and pantry goods.

Paul pointed with his chin at the house next door as he followed Rick inside, setting the box down in the entry and not straying from the front mat in his muddy boots. “He went to wash up; had to kill a few biters, we had the windows rolled down all the way back. I think that stuff was destined for Aaron’s garage for now, I could walk back and drive it over…”

Rick took stock of him and nodded. “You do that. And if you wanna wash up here, yer welcome to. Couch is yours too, if you like, but if you prefer one of the vacant homes you’ll have to get the keys from Eugene next door.” He unloaded a few items to his kitchen table before taking the box to the stairs. “Oh, and we’re celebratin’ tonight at the town hall, make sure you come by.” Rick flashed him a dreamy smile before heading upstairs.

“Thanks. Will do.” He smiled and bowed out, nearly bowling Michonne over as she came up the porch steps. They exchanged some awkward pleasantries before he hopped to the house next door. Just as he was about to knock, the door swung open. 

“Oh. Hey.”

“Hey.” Daryl leaned against the threshold, crossing his arms over his chest, steely eyes narrowed in the dying light. He looked the scout over, chewing at the corner of his mouth. He raised his eyebrows after a moment of silence. 

Paul blinked, tearing his eyes off the open shirt and shaking his head. “Uh. Yeah. I was, um, the archery stuff. It’s still in the truck. There’s a thing tonight. Rick wants us there.”

Daryl nodded. “Figured. I’ll get the truck, did you wanna shower?” He gave Paul a little smirk. “Y’got somethin’ in yer hair,” he pointed out quietly with a flick of his hand.

Paul rolled his eyes bashfully and tucked the stiff, sticky strand behind his ear, cheeks flushing. He hoped Rick hadn’t noticed. “That’d be great, if you don’t mind.”

Daryl stepped back to let him in. “Towels are in the hall upstairs. I’ll be back in twenny.”

The scout came inside and pulled off his boots. “Great. Could you grab my bag from the truck?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl accepted a peck on the cheek and aggressively returned it before ducking out, looking around to make sure no one had seen anything as he buttoned up. A few residents out for their evening stroll had their backs to him, which was about it. Judith’s laughter echoed from the upper floor of the Grimes residence. 

The short walk to the storehouse felt longer as he took in the twilit streets with fresh eyes. Everything in Alexandria was as he’d left it this morning, but he was living it from a new perspective. There was a lightness and easiness he’d never felt before. Things with Paul were far from complete, and he was faced with the entirely new challenge of building a solid friendship without putting up the walls he’d always used to keep people at arm’s length. People to whom he’d never had a chance to say goodbye. They hadn’t made him feel this way, though. He owed it to Paul, he owed it to everyone left. 

The war with Negan, the death it brought, and coming so close to losing more people while being helpless to stop it, had left him feeling raw and vulnerable. Knowing they'd all risked everything to save him while he was held powerless had changed him. 

He was tired of avoiding the panic he felt simply talking, trying to find the right words to sidestep all the things that made people uncomfortable; he didn't understand it. Politeness, self-censorship, none of it made sense to him when he really thought about it. He'd rather cut to the hard truths and find a way to work through them. People had rarely appreciated his bluntness and preferred to cling to the comfort of ignorant complacency, and he never liked those types, nor they him. Maybe they were the ones putting up walls. Maybe it wasn’t always on him to make people like him. Maybe they already did and they were just as scared to connect as he was?

When Hilltop and the Kingdom had joined with them, it restored a little bit of his optimism. He was grateful to Paul “Jesus” Rovia for piercing the bubble of paranoia that had gripped Alexandria, even though it had started a war for which they’d been vastly under-prepared. He’d sacrificed the safety of his own people to show them a world where possibility thrived. It was Paul who had welcomed his sisters and brothers into a bigger, stronger family of survivors. He could’ve left them out here, cloistered in their rows of comfortable boxes, sitting ducks for Negan and his men; he didn’t.

He didn't want to miss the chance to make up for being such a prick to someone who'd risked his life to save him; they’d had the firepower to blow the entire sanctuary to dust along with him, save themselves a whole lot of trouble, and most nights he prayed that they would. Couldn’t say the same for the other prisoners, but he would have sacrificed them too to keep Rick’s family safe. At the very least, he could try to make Paul feel welcome in his life. 

Eric answered the door, chipper as a chipmunk, and invited him in, calling Aaron down from upstairs. 

“Daryl! How’d it go?” Aaron swept him up in a warm hug, making him wrestle back a smile as he jerked his head back toward the street. 

“Went great. Got ya somethin’, it’s in the truck.”

Aaron and Eric were both over the moon. Daryl had always promised to teach them to shoot better, but being precariously low on bolts had always made him nervous about losing them. He gave them a brief tutorial and left them to play with their new toys in the dwindling light, driving the truck back to his house. 

________

 

He found Paul sitting on his bed in just his pants, towel draped over his shoulders, damp hair in a knotted bun atop his head while he studied the large book that lay open in his lap. He looked so delicate, edged in the golden light of the reading lamp. He looked up at Daryl, his face illegibly shadowed as he closed the book with a stunned blink. 

Daryl felt his stomach drop when he saw the cover. He tossed Paul’s bag onto the bed next to him and wordlessly left the room. 

“Daryl, wait,” Paul fished a shirt out of his bag and pulled it on as he chased Daryl down the stairs. “Wait.”

The hunter wasn’t ready for this talk. He leaned over the kitchen sink, wishing he hadn’t left those cartons of smokes behind. He hadn’t wanted to look weak in front of Paul, but it was happening anyways, and now with the first pangs of a withdrawal headache to top it off. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone through your things, I was just looking for some nail clippers and-” 

“Don’t.” There was no frustration in his voice, just a straightforward request. Daryl let out a sigh, took a couple of glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water, giving one to Paul before stepping out the back door, motioning for him to follow. The scout followed, and timidly sat next to him on the stoop. 

“Don’t what?” 

Daryl fished something out of his pocket and popped a smooth red pill into his mouth, chased it with the entire glass. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Not tryin’a hide nothin’, just forget it for now alright?”

Paul smiled gently, and scooted closer, their shoulders warming where they touched. “You up for tonight? Everyone was thrilled with the haul, I promised to drop by. They want to see you.” 

“Where’sat?”

“Town hall? Not sure what Rick meant by that.”

“Ah. Deanna’s.” Daryl wasn’t overly fond of the place, but he wanted to Paul to see it. Her home had been repurposed as a communal space in her honor, after Maggie had relinquished her inheritance for a fresh start at Hilltop. It now functioned as a library, a planning area, and a temporary home for new residents, as well as a general gathering place for those who wanted to stay up while housemates slept between shifts. Tara and Rosita spent a lot of their spare time reading together. 

Paul finished hydrating and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Deanna?”

“Alexandria’s founder. We lost her. I’ll walk ya’.” Daryl struggled stiffly to his feet and helped Paul up, who wobbled a bit and laughed at his own fatigue. 

“You’re coming too, right? Or are you still ‘avoiding me’?” 

Daryl puffed a small laugh and took his empty glass. Paul opened the door for him. “Nah, I’m comin’.”

________

 

Four hours and about half a dozen drinks later they were helping Eugene to his bedroom at the top of the stairs. Once he was heaped safely on his bed, in the recovery position, with a glass of water next to it, they shut his door quietly and crept to Daryl’s room, locking it before pressing on one another with urgency. 

Paul had been driving him mad all night with those slow glances of his, making chit chat with just about everyone who’d shown up while Carl, Michonne and Judith kept Daryl distracted from all the social stress with some Nintendo game about go carts. He was actually getting pretty good at it, barely losing to Michonne a few times. By the time Paul was helping Eugene into his coat and Rick finally came by to collect his sleepy children, they’d made a bit of a drinking game out of it and were ready to turn in as well. They’d lost to that _tomato-ass-lookin’ prick_ Mario one too many times. 

At least, he had been ready to sleep, a little more awake now that Paul’s tongue was in his mouth. 

He kissed up into Daryl as he pulled out his hair tie, wild locks cascading over his shoulders. Daryl corralled him toward the bed, where Paul tripped out of his pants and landed on the mattress beneath him. The hunter guided the rest of him onto the bed with ease, lifting Paul’s shirt and pulling it off to reveal his lithe, intricately muscled upper body. Daryl knelt over him, straddling his thighs, admiring the sight of Paul fucking Rovia in only grey briefs and a necklace, his long hair splayed out over the pillow. 

“You’re staring,” the scout whispered, buckling under his gaze, turning bashful and reaching for the buttons on Daryl’s shirt with a smile that wouldn’t fade.

Daryl worked his shirt open from the collar down, capturing Paul’s hands halfway and pinning them to the bed beside his shoulders. He leaned down over him, slower this time. Paul’s beard tickled his lips as they brushed noses. Paul pushed up to kiss him carefully, twisting his hands free and running them up the archer’s sculpted arms to thread fingers into his soft hair. 

He hummed with relief as Paul’s lips melted against his; he’d been craving this closeness all evening. Now satisfied that it was his once more, he could savour it, palms drinking in his smooth skin. His hands smoothed down over Paul’s stomach, to the sides of his hips and upward over his ribs, swerving in to skim over his perfectly muscled chest, eliciting a shiver, and a hiccup that broke the kiss with an apology and a giggle. Daryl laughed, bumping his forehead against Paul’s. 

“Can I get ya some water?”

Paul nodded as he pursed his lips, stifling another hiccup. He sat up and wrapped his arms around the hunter, giving him a long, swaying, drunken squeeze before wrestling him aside. “I can get it.” 

Daryl rolled off him and lay on his back, rubbing his face and his temples. Halfway to the bathroom Paul lurched sideways, legs crossing before he righted himself with the wall and stumbled onward. He’d never seen the scout this uncoordinated, and felt a little bad for him as he listened to him slurping straight from the faucet. 

He closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull. He’d kind of hoped to suck some dick tonight, but that was something he wanted to remember. He heard the light flick on and the door close, and a few minutes later Paul returned to the bedside, where he stood quietly, looking over the hunter. 

“What’s up?” Daryl’s face was hard to see in the silver light cast by the window, but his voice was soft and concerned.

Paul wrung at the shirt he’d picked up for a lengthy pause. “Look I, um, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a drink or five, and I think I’m gonna crash.” He rubbed the shirt on his face with a deep sigh before pulling it back on.

Daryl snickered a bit. “No shit, you can hardly walk.”

He swayed a bit, despondent, shirt backwards and hair tousled. “If you want I can take the couch, or go over to Rick’s…” 

“What? No- I mean, if you’d rather, but you c’n stay here if ya want.” Daryl hooked a finger into the limp hand that hung at his side and tugged gently. 

Paul’s brightly smiling eyes were a relief for Daryl. He climbed into bed clumsily, snuggling against his side and resting a cheek on his shoulder. He lifted Daryl’s hand to his lips and planted a long, grateful kiss on the back of it. The hunter retaliated with a soft, bristly peck to his temple. Within minutes the slow roll of long, deep breaths had him drifting into darkness, while Daryl held him, heart thrumming wildly, wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOPE! But they've got a whole day together tomorrow, I will be playing around with that next! Sorry if this was disappointing, I needed to write it. Maybe it came out kind of awkward, but I'm ok with that BC it's so far off-canon. Hope everyone's having a decent summer, if not, I hope this helped to pass the time! Thanks so much for the kind feedback, I wouldn't have continued without it.


	3. I Had a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus spends the night with Daryl.

Jesus woke in the night to an empty bed. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge and waited for the spinning sensation to subside, a vaporous discomfort permeating his skull and lungs. 

The windows were opened wide to a crescent moon casting its dim light on some high-altitude wisps and towering cumulus in the distance. Despite the earlier downpour, the air was sticky and still and too uncomfortably warm to fall back asleep. A flicker of lightning illuminated the distant stormcloud, too far for the rumble of thunder to reach his ears. He wasn’t too hung over; probably still a little bit drunk, and very thirsty. He got up to take a piss and wash his face, nearly tripping over Daryl’s boots on the way to the washroom. At least, their presence meant he hadn’t gone far.

As he padded downstairs he saw that the kitchen light was on. Daryl stood by the stove, stirring a small pot of something that gave off the familiar reek of Boyardee. He wore an unbuttoned sleeveless shirt and a pair of plaid boxers. And sunglasses. The back door was propped wide open with a rock or something, and small insects battered themselves against the light fixture, some stuck to the greasy ceiling.

“Hungry?” Paul queried the obvious, leaning in the doorway.

“Dying,” Daryl croaked, a sheen of sweat glistening on his face and toasty, chiselled arms. 

Paul helped himself to a glass of water, and perched on a stool at the kitchen’s island, to rest his cheek on the cool counter for a while. 

The hunter took the pot off the heat and threw a slab of dense, home-baked bread directly onto the burner. He stared at it, sucking some of the glop off the wooden spoon, until it caught fire, then flipped it onto the counter and blew on it, shaking the heat out of his finger with a quiet cuss. He took a mug from the cupboard, poured some ravioli slop into it, tore off and jammed the less-charred piece of bread in along with a spoon from the drawer, and placed it before Jesus. 

Jesus lifted his head, his eyes wide with child-like wonder. “For me?”

“Stop it…” Daryl turned off the stove and began to eat directly from the pot with the wood utensil. 

“Stop what?” He asked genuinely, straightening up and biting into the saucy end of the toast. He closed his eyes and moaned as his stomach growled.

“Bein’ all cute ‘n shit,” he mumbled, and propped a hip against the counter while he ate. 

“Can’t help it; born this way,” he stated while chewing, looking over the hunter for a moment. He turned and searched the wall for a light switch and saw it was within reach, so he leaned towards it and flicked it off from his stool. A night-light above the counter replaced the harsh overhead lights with a soft blue-green glow from its repurposed holiday bulb.

Daryl removed his sunglasses and placed them on the counter, muttering thanks.

“Headache?”

He nodded.

“Too much to drink?” He shovelled the rest of the ‘pasta’ into his face and started chasing the remaining sauce with his bread.

Daryl shook his head. “Nothin’a smoke,” he grumbled before slurping an obscenely large mouthful from the spoon.

“Mh!” He swallowed. “Right!” The scout hopped down from the stool and disappeared into the dark hallway, returning with his leather coat. He fished into one of the liner pockets and pulled out a wallet-sized plastic packet. Daryl immediately recognized it as Paul tossed it into his hands. 

“No way, man, didn’t know ya smoked?” Daryl peeled it open to smell the contents, and a pack of rolling papers tumbled out onto the counter. 

“It was in one of the gym lockers, I had meant to give it to you earlier.” He sat down to finish his food, looking very pleased with himself. 

Daryl set the pot down and sat next to Paul to roll a cigarette. The tobacco smelled better than anything he’d had in a long time, still plump and fragrant as he pulled and fluffed the shred between his fingers. He nudged Paul’s shoulder with his. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for the supper,” Paul wiped his smile off on the inside of his shirt and washed down the meal with his water. He eyed the neat roll that Daryl was sealing with his tongue. “You making me one too, or do you plan to share that?”

Daryl stood, cig dangling from his barely-smile, and motioned for Paul to follow him back upstairs. He grabbed his vest from the chair in his bedroom and pulled it on, then climbed out the window onto the gently sloped roof that jutted out over the porch. Paul followed and sat next to him, laying back to watch the sky on the gritty shingles. Daryl flicked his lighter open and lit up, savouring the first pull before settling down next to the scout and passing the smoke his way.

Paul took a small puff and handed it back. He folded his arms behind his head, letting the smoke roll on his tongue as he breathed in deep through his nose and exhaled. While he didn’t care much for the effects of nicotine, he loved the smell and taste, so he was careful not to actually inhale much. He turned to the hunter, “Feel better?”

“Guess so. Head’s startin’a feel better. Damn embarrassin’ habit, though,” Daryl shrugged, offering Paul another hit, who waved it off. He tucked it between his lips to smoulder, settling himself on the roof. 

Paul smiled sympathetically. “We all have our crutches. Sorry if I’m being an enabler, if you’re ever ready to quit I’ll help.”

“Nah, this helps. Dunno if I’ll be able to go back to cigs once this is gone,” he admired the roll in his fingers as the fine plume danced off the tip. The sweet, hay-like aroma was nothing like the dirty stale smell of a manufactured smoke.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” The stars were bright, dense swirls between shadows of clouds above them. 

“Nah, not tired. Don’t sleep much, kinda dozed off earlier today.” He flicked some ash and looked up from the distant western sky to gaze at the scout instead, an apologetic smile pulled his fine lips taut. 

Paul’s eyes crinkled in a devilish smile. “You earned it…” He brushed his arm tenderly with the back of a finger, then furrowed up into the void, dozens of questions clamouring in his mind as they star-gazed in silence. 

“When do you go?” The hunter asked quietly, drawing the scout’s eyes back to his. 

“I’m here one more night, then Maggie’s bringing the drop over and I’ll head back with her.” 

Daryl sighed, a tower of smoke billowing toward the stars, a small glimmer in the shadows of his tired eyes betraying the unease that roiled in his gut.

“Why, will you miss me?” He tugged playfully.

The tracker huffed, “Nah.” He stretched to reach the ash tray on his windowsill and butted out before scooting closer to the smaller man, lying on his side, facing him. 

Paul raised his eyebrows with a discreet pout. “No?” 

Daryl shook his head, brushed Paul’s cheek with his knuckles and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Not if I follow ya home.” He chewed back a playful smile. 

Jesus inhaled sharply as the contact gave him goosebumps, searching his face. “So soon? You sure about that, Dixon?” 

Daryl crept over him, moving in close to tease the crook of his neck with his mouth. “What’s the point in fuckin’ around waiting?” he growled softly. He could feel the scout’s heart racing when he planted his lips on his throat. 

“Don’t tease me, Daryl,” he breathed against his ear. Paul’s hands skirted up Daryl’s sides and wrapped around his shoulders, inviting the larger man to lay on him. He was suddenly very much reminded that neither of them had any pants on. His dick strained so hard against the fabric he felt a draft, before the hunter’s hot, hard body crushed against him. 

“You think I’m teasin’?” Daryl caged him in between his propped elbows, laying soft kisses from his throat to his lips as the slighter man struggled to keep his composure. 

Paul dodged the larger man’s mouth, flicking Daryl’s nose with his instead. “What about your friends here, hmm? Tara? Aaron? Rick?” 

“I’d visit…” Daryl sighed and dealt a playful headbutt to Paul’s forehead, rubbing noses with him. “We only got a day, just let me pretend.”

“We’ve still got tonight, bet I could tire you out again,” he murmured real low with a smirk before lightly brushing his lips against Daryl’s. 

The hunter gasped into the kiss and deepened it, his swelling dick pulsed hungrily in response. Paul’s hands were roving down his body beneath his shirt and vest, nails skimmed over his pelvic dive, causing a prickly rush of bliss up his spine. Those strong wiry hands raked around his waist and pulled at his ass through the light material. 

Paul couldn’t help the strained whimper that escaped his throat as Daryl sucked his tongue, digging his fingers into the hunter’s cheeks and crushing his thickening length against the stiff cock above his. 

Daryl moaned so obscenely that he became aware of every open window on the street. “Wanna taste you,” he whispered, lowering his voice beneath the shrill chorus of crickets and frogs that filled the night.

“I’m all yours,” Paul replied, hushed and tilting his head into Daryl’s hungry kisses before that fine mouth began lipping its way to his ear and down his neck, drawing out a shuddering moan. 

Daryl’s knees scraped along the shingles as he crawled backwards down his finely sculpted body. The hunter lifted Paul’s shirt to leave it bunched beneath his armpits while he began mouthing at his chest, tormenting his nipples with suction and teeth before leaving a cooling trail of wet kisses downward to the stark trail below his waist. 

Paul could hardly focus beyond the blood rushing through his pounding chest. That perfect little mouth had him writhing and pliant in seconds. The hunter certainly wasn’t shy about using it to rile him up, his lips and tongue and beard and teeth felt electric on contact. Paul had to wonder just how long Daryl had been thinking about doing this, and the thought that he’d been concealing such a powerful torrent of lust for him was intoxicating.

Daryl rested his prickly chin on Paul’s stomach for a pause, taking in the starlit landscape of his lover’s body. His hair was wild with waves and kinks from being left to dry in a bun all night, and appeared black in the low light, nearly concealing his vulpine, ravenous eyes in shadow. He could sense the heat rising off the scout’s raging hard-on where it lay trapped and throbbing beneath his throat. 

“Daryl, you don’t have to…” he whispered nervously as his delicate hands caressed the man’s handsome cheeks.

Daryl hooked his arms under the scout’s spread thighs and tucked his fingers beneath the hem of his underwear, dragging his chin down over the tantalizing ridge of firm flesh beneath the fabric, eyes locked on Paul’s with a lewd smile. He pressed his lips firmly against his dick, inhaling sharply. “Mmmh, yea I do, been waitin’ so long for this...”

Daryl’s low voice reverberated into his groin. Paul was shocked, his head falling back against the roof with a gasp. “Oh thank fuck, I want your mouth so bad Daryl.” 

“Not as bad as it wants your cock,” he mumbled as he mouthed along the length of his erection from base to tip. 

Daryl’s teeth and lips against his cock sent shivers through him, and gathering two thick fistfuls of silky hair, he pressed back into the touch. He felt the sweat-damp waistband peel away from his skin, his hard cock springing free and smacking against Daryl’s cheek. The fact that anyone along the street could look out a window and see them pressed him to remain silent, but it was growing difficult to suppress the animalistic wails Daryl truly deserved. He swept the hair out of his lover’s face and watched, awestruck, as he tilted his head and tenderly mauled the underside of his erection. 

The smooth skin of Paul’s dick was decadence to Daryl as he sucked kisses up the underside and lapped tentatively at the sensitive head, smearing the salty tang of precum over the head with careful lips and tongue before sealing his mouth around him and sucking slowly, gently. His tongue fluttered against the underside as he pressed his lips down to take him as deep as he could, salivating profusely as the lovely, gently curved member filled his mouth. It was like kissing, but better, bathing that perfect cock in his hot breath as he broke the seal of his lips to gasp wetly. 

“Ohh that feels good, keep your mouth on it baby, oh yesss, yes Daryl,” he gasped. His hands twisted in the hunter’s hair holding him close while he slurped and moaned around his cock, hips rising unapologetically into Daryl’s face as he clenched his ass.

He carefully tested his throat’s reaction as he dipped lower, shaking his head and pulling off with every gag and groaning with mild frustration. He wanted all of it, but Paul’s dick really was as long as it had felt in his ass; even though he could hold the head in his throat without much resistance, there was at least another inch left in the cold. Daryl whined and continued to struggle on it, caressing his balls and massaging his pelvis. 

“Ahh, yes babe, you don’t have to force it, just keep going,” he murmured, chewing his lip, entranced, fingertips caressing Daryl’s scalp as his head worked slowly up and down his dick. “You look so gorgeous on my dick, ohh your tongue baby, god, you feel so good…”

Daryl wasn’t sure if Paul would even manage to finish first, his relentless praise and his taut body quaking and twisting and straining beneath him had Daryl’s cock leaking and jumping with want. The taste and feel of Jesus’ hot dick on his tongue, filling his mouth, softly pulsing and alive, was more satisfying than any fantasy he’d ever had about it. The part of him that wanted to drag him inside, throw him onto the bed and pound him senseless would have to wait its turn. 

“Nngh, oh god Daryl you’re so good, do you want my cum already babe?”

“Mmh,” He pulled himself up with a slurp to shift his body for a better angle, skimming up and down his shaft with a loose fist as he caught his breath, “Fuck yea, Paul, fuck my mouth, I need it,” he growled against his dick, inhaling deep and going down again, laving downward over his skin with his tongue until the head breached his throat again. He suckled like a needy calf as Paul’s hips bucked and twitched erratically, thighs quivering as Daryl’s mouth drew his pleasure to peak.

He whimpered and consciously willed himself to clutch at Daryl’s leather-clad shoulders, not wanting to choke him by pulling too forcefully on his hair. Even without guidance, Daryl was making quick work of Jesus’ unravelling. “Ohh fuck, babe I’m gonna cum if you keep going, right there babe, can you do that? Oh, god...” 

Daryl nodded, cheeks hollowed around the throbbing intrusion, eyes watering. A tiny moan was trapped in his throat, and his thick hands tightened their grip on Paul’s thighs. His hips ground quick, shallow thrusts into his mouth, and he did his best to lock his head in place for Paul.

“Daryl I’m there, I’m…” Paul’s gasps and whimpers came to a strained halt as he shuddered and jerked with a loud, guttural sigh. He immediately clamped a hand over his own mouth, panting through his nose as his climax sent tremors through his body. His dick pulsed spurt after spurt of cum into Daryl’s constricting throat while his strong tongue squirmed against it. Sharp eyes watched him as he was swept up in a riptide of bliss, then closed tightly as Daryl pulled his head up carefully, swallowing back his load and gasping for air. 

“Shhhit Paul, that was so hot…” he continued lapping and sucking gently as Jesus’ stiff spent cock throbbed out the last of his release onto his tongue. Paul trembled beneath him, still abuzz with pleasure, fingers cording gently through the hunter’s soft hair, soothing and appreciative. Daryl licked him clean before climbing back up his body.

“You were hot, Daryl… you’ve got a gift, I mean it.” Paul cupped his face with smug admiration, still chasing his breath as he pressed his lips to Daryl’s. 

Daryl returned the kiss softly, still sated by the salty taste on his tongue and the quiet beauty of the contented man beneath him. He’d forgotten about his own aching need, until he felt Paul’s long fingers give him a firm squeeze through his boxers, lithe legs wrapping playfully around his. His smirk broke the kiss. 

“Want you in me, Daryl…”

“Thought you were a top,” he whispered. 

Paul hummed, his brilliant eyes searching Daryl’s, noting the pre-dawn light beginning to permeate their world once more. “I’ll switch it up, on one condition…”

“What,” he demanded, pursing his lips as Paul tugged on his thick shaft. 

The scout leaned up to whisper in his ear, “keep the vest on.”

He gave a breathy little laugh at that. “Mmm, that’ll cost extra,” Daryl joked, grinding into his hand and giving his shoulder a playful bite.

Paul yelped in surprise, unexpectedly loud, echoing off the homes across the street. Both their eyes went wide as they paused in silence, Paul nervously pulling his underwear back up over his wet junk. Clear as day, Daryl heard Rick clear his throat and shut his bedroom window.

 

It took them a little while to fall asleep, Paul couldn’t suppress the laughter that bubbled up as they wrestled in his bed over the only pillow Daryl owned. Daryl had gone soft once they’d scrabbled back in through the window, and he found himself too tired and blissed out to bother with getting everything rolling again. He was more than satisfied to mull over what had just happened, certain that Paul was about a kiss away from comatose anyways. 

A cool wall of air stirred the curtains and washed over their tangled bodies. Daryl groaned and mumbled something into Paul’s hair, but when he responded with a quizzical hum there was only silence, the slow rise and fall of Daryl’s chest against his back. He made a mental note to ask him again in his dreams as they swept him far away.

 

Paul was the first to wake. The full morning sun bounced off the windows of the homes across the street, glaring directly into his eyes, and the room was already sweltering. He skilfully disengaged himself from the tangle of sheets that bound him to the sleeping hunter, who had somehow reclaimed his pillow in the night. 

It reminded him of the first day they’d met; Daryl’s somnolent face was the same one he’d fallen for that night they’d taken him ‘captive’. He’d stood over the archer who lay slumped in a chair in the hallway, so dead with sleep that even the crumbs landing on his knees didn’t stir him. 

Paul carefully swept the hunter’s hair back from his brow, reminiscing a moment before rolling out of bed. Judging by the angle of the sun it was still early, and much to his delight he found that the hot water tank had replenished overnight.

 

The pipe banging in the walls as the shower shut off woke Daryl with a start, heart racing until he heard the faucet and the brushing of teeth and clicking of lotion bottles and remembered that Paul had slept in his bed after he’d sucked his dick on the roof and that Rick had probably heard all or most of it and that the three of them had made plans together for right about now and then his heart was trying to crawl up out of his body, so he pulled the pillow over his face and tried to suffocate for a minute. 

The bathroom door opened, the bathroom fan turned off, and soon he felt the mattress shift and dip sink around him as someone knelt astride his body. The backs of fingernails drew a swath of stimulus up his midsection; Daryl recoiled instantaneously and swatted him with the pillow.

Paul laughed, catching and hugging the pillow to his body as Daryl wiped the sleep from his flushed face. “Mornin, cookie.”

“Don’ call me that. Sounds like ‘pookie’,” he mumbled. His eyes blinked open and he realized Paul was entirely nude, seated on his thighs with only a pillow to cover his body. His smirk was hidden behind it, eyes bright, waiting patiently like a hungry but well-behaved dog. Daryl’s throat suddenly felt dry, his obvious tent the only thing standing between them. 

Paul snickered. “Wait, _Pookie_?!” 

“Carol’s,” he mumbled. He tugged on the corner of the pillow, making a casual effort to peek around it. 

Paul hugged it tighter to his body, brow still incredulous. “ _Carol_ calls you _Pookie_?” He brayed with laughter and covered his mouth when he saw Daryl’s sour expression. “She can have it, that woman terrifies me.” 

“Does she? Smart man.” Daryl sat up and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, getting right up in his cocky face. He gave him a squeeze, and chased his dimpled cheek with his lips before noticing the creak of leather somewhere between them. He crammed his hand between the pillow and Paul and yanked out his winged vest.

Paul wiggled his eyebrows with an impish smile. “Think we’ve got time?”

Daryl stared blankly for a beat before shrugging it on and flinging the pillow onto the floor.

 

________

 

Michonne spat into the sink. “It sounded like a fox to me. Think we could lure it inside and keep it as a pet?” 

“Not if you enjoy having furniture,” Rick responded from the other side of the open ensuite door. He was wrestling a fresh diaper onto Judith, who was squawking and kicking and attempting to roll away in every direction. “I thought I heard some strange voices, could have been raccoons.”

She finished flossing and rinsed, then sauntered into the bedroom to help dress the rambunctious toddler. “Maybe Daryl heard it too. Are you sure about dragging him out again today? He was pretty beat yesterday; they already brought us a lot.” She held Judith up so that Rick could put her socks on. 

“I won’t hold him to it, but he’s always preferred coming along to staying in.” Rick plucked his child from Michonne’s hands and kissed her cheek before carrying Judith down to the kitchen, where they set about making some breakfast together. 

“I’m just saying, you were already a few drinks in when you made these plans; they may not have been taken to heart,” she smirked as she flipped the toast in the pan. They shared a playful look. 

“I’ll go over and see if he’s up. I wouldn’t worry, we shouldn’t be out too long; we’re just taking a good look around for now.” 

“And Jesus?” The two hadn’t quite been at odds when they returned, but they barely spoke at the gathering last night. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Daryl so relaxed, actually. Maybe she wouldn't have to worry about Rick babysitting the petulant pair. 

“We’ve only got him today, and he should be there; he’s got a good eye for situations, and maybe he could rope some of his people into helping." He divided the eggs onto two plates, when her expectant gaze caught his eye. "Would you care to join?”

She seemed relieved that he’d asked. “I’d like to, but Carl’s going to say it’s his turn to go with you,” she caressed his shoulder before sitting down with the eggs and toast. She let Judith sit in her lap to help herself from the plate with tiny, messy hands, and cut the buttered toast into tiny squares for her. 

“He’s headed back to Alexandria with Jesus, so I think he’ll be ok spending the day with Enid and Judy.” Rick sat across from them at the breakfast table with a sparkling smile for the woman bouncing his daughter gently in her lap. 

"She isn't going with?" 

"That's up to her. I'm assuming she is, but she's a little hard to predict." 

Judith interjected with a joyful shriek, flinging toast. 

Michonne shrugged with a resigned smile, "So when do we go?"

Rick checked his watch and shrugged. "Whenever Carl's up."

"I'll get ready, then; the sooner we go, the sooner we’re back." She finished what was left on her plate, plopped Judith into Rick's lap and kissed him, an energized gleam in her eyes. She went upstairs, calling on Carl to rise and shine as she passed his room.

________

 

Paul led him into a slow, luxurious kiss, his cock pressed against Daryl's in his loose grasp, grinding into it lightly. He pushed him down onto the mattress, his other hand sneaking beneath the hunter's shirt. He couldn't help but take in the thick, densely muscled body as they kissed. Daryl was an artful blend of soft and hard, smooth and rough, some of the scars he bore were deep and knotted, and Daryl stiffened under his touch when he lingered over them. Stab wounds? Daryl nipped at his tongue and hissed when he found the gunshot, giving him a warning glare. He immediately smoothed his hands lower. 

He relaxed again when Paul's hand wandered to his nipple and began tracing tight circles around it, huffing quietly and drawing away from his lips. He rolled Paul off him and climbed on top, wedging himself between his legs to settle heavily on his body.

Daryl practically hulked over him, the sheer mass of the man felt so good on top of him. He shifted beneath the hunter, whose thicker frame forced his legs wide apart, his expression growing sultry. “You sure you’ve never done this before?"

"In my head, I guess," he murmured before going after Paul's sinuous throat with his tongue. Coarse hands splayed up his sensitive sides and pushed his arms up over his head, pinning his wrists to the bed in one hand. The other smoothed back down his nude body, down his still-damp trail to his erection, teasing the underside with fingertips at first, then wrapping around him to jerk him slowly, admiring the sight below him. 

"Ah," he exhaled, hips responsive to his touch, rubbing his heels up Daryl's calves. He bit his lip as Daryl’s hand moved lower, dragging his thick middle finger up his slick crack, brushing over his hole then circling back to rub and prod and tease him open.

“Yer so wet… the hell you been doin’ in my shower,” he growled fondly, causing the scout to shiver. 

“A little preparation, just in - case,” he gasped. His pupils dilated as a finger pushed inside, sliding in to the knuckle with only the slightest drag.

Daryl was nervous as hell, but the soft slippery skin wrapped around his finger was enough to keep him grounded. He wanted that around his cock so badly, wanted to be inside of Paul, wrapped up in his arms, he wanted the closeness; it was everything he could never admit he craved. He really, really didn’t want to fuck this up. 

Paul saw the trouble on his face and leaned up to kiss his cheek softly. “You can’t hurt me, babe, you don’t have to be careful. This is for you. I want you to know how good you feel to me.”

“Still, don’ wanna hurt you.” Paul had definitely squirted a good amount of lube in there. After pumping his finger for a while he pulled it out and inserted a different one, then joined it with the first, his stony eyes fixed on those below him, watching him melt into the mattress, damp hair tangled, face flushed and wary as Daryl’s hand worked into him. 

“Please let me touch you,” he whispered. He wouldn’t touch the scars. He just wanted his hands on his lover, wanted to feel Daryl’s response to his own body. Just the two fingers were already stretching him more than he had been in a while, and knowing Daryl’s girth it was going to sting a little. He couldn’t wait. 

He’d been so focused on feeling him up he hadn’t realized he was crushing Paul’s wrists under his weight. He released him, murmuring an apology and propping on an elbow instead, twisting his fingers out while Paul’s hands slipped around his neck and pulled him into a long and languid kiss. 

He whimpered at the sudden emptiness and gave a long sensual suck to Daryl’s tongue, breaking away with a wet gasp, “please Daryl, I need you inside me.”

Those huge green eyes begging him could’ve stopped his heart. He let out a shaky sigh and shook his head, “it’s comin’, stop me if it hurts, alright?” 

Daryl grasped his cock resolutely and lined it up with his entrance, adding his pre-cum to the mess of lube as he rubbed it against the rim in small circles. Paul’s desperate moan against his mouth buzzed right through him.

“Oh yes, Daryl,” Paul sucked at his lip and kissed a trail to his jaw, desperately sucking fierce welts down his throat as that thickness pushed against his entrance, impaling him with pressure before the tight ring gave way to a burning incursion. They both groaned in relief as the thickness of his head passed through the barrier.

“Hell… shit... so tight,” Daryl moaned. He worked his way inside with tight lips and shallow breaths and shallow thrusts that gradually slid deeper as the slickness spread over his cock. He wrapped Paul up in his arms and held him close, felt him practically quaking and huffing into his ear. 

“Please, more, please,” Paul was lost, overwhelmed, pulling at his vest, legs wrapped around him to guide him in, wanting all of him. 

Despite knowing better, Jesus felt so small and vulnerable beneath him. Carefully, he withdrew to the ridge and steadily pushed in until his hips butted up against Paul’s body. He sucked in steadying breaths as the heavenly pressure mounted to an overwhelming plateau. A drop of sweat crawled from his hairline down his neck. He didn’t even need the friction, the struggle of his tight hole clenching around him while Paul tried to relax was pushing him to the brink. 

Paul realized he was holding his breath, and let it out in the form of a lilting moan. Daryl had him stretched to his limits and he wordlessly locked his legs around him to keep him from moving too soon. He slid his fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, and doted on him with loving kisses. Daryl squeezed him tighter with a shudder. The hot thickness filling him began to twitch inside of him and he heard a soft whimper escape through the hunter’s nose.

“Shhhit.” Daryl could hardly think straight, or calm his breathing, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as a devastating bliss ripped through his body, flooding Paul’s ass with cum. He couldn’t help the way his thighs shook. He gave a sharp sigh as his dick volunteered the last of his load in one delayed burst. Well, that had happened. He forced himself up off the scout after a moment, apprehensively searching the shocked face beneath him.

Paul’s eyes were wide with wonder, still cupping Daryl’s precious face in his hands. He searched the man’s eyes, his voice barely a whisper, “oh my god babe, did you just cum in me?” 

He didn’t look angry or upset, he seemed more touched and elated than anything. Daryl had to laugh, so he hid his face against scout’s shoulder. “Couldn’t help it, m’sorry, shit…” 

Paul rolled his eyes, hugged the hunter’s shoulders and kissed his head. “Don’t you dare apologise, I’ll be jerking off to this for years.” 

He relaxed a little. The thought of Paul touching himself was pretty inspiring. “How ‘bout right now?” 

“Mmm, you wanna watch me?” Paul bit his lip, giving Daryl’s cock a gentle squeeze inside him. He was impressed that he was still kind of hard, and reached down between them to begin stroking himself slowly.

“Aw yeah,” he purred, sitting back on his knees to give the predator behind his eyes a better view of his partial erection still plugging the scout’s hole. 

Paul felt a little shy beneath him, so he closed his eyes, focusing on the fullness of Daryl inside him and the warm hands on his sides, thumbs caressing his obliques, Daryl’s quiet gasp as his dick twitched back to life. The way he’d completely lost control. He was so close, and then he felt Daryl pull out, only to fill him again with two fingers, then three, pushing in and out and massaging his inner walls. 

While he gazed raptly at the exquisite mess beneath him, Daryl’s fingers homed in on the sweet spot and Paul arched off the bed with a pained groan, body tensing momentarily before his hand slowed and gripped his shaft tightly. Daryl worked that spot relentlessly. Lusty eyes opened to lock on Daryl’s as he pumped into his fist in short jerks. His insides clenched and spasmed around his fingers, stripes of cum shooting up over his belly and chest with a moan. 

“Daryl,” he whimpered as the last few pulses of cum dribbled onto his stomach.

Daryl licked his lips, transfixed. He leaned down to kiss him, still stroking his insides gently as he came down from his climax. “God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Paul closed his eyes and kissed him, his heart throbbing and aching in a good way. Before he could even catch his breath, there was a brief knock at the bedroom door before it swung open and Rick walked in with his nose buried in his notebook, scratching his head with the butt of his pen.

“Hey Daryl, truck’s loaded. Once Jesus turns up we should probably get- oh.” Rick immediately shielded his eyes and backed out the door. “I- I’m sorry. Just, uh, bring the keys; you’ve still got ‘em.” He closed the door carefully.

As they washed up and dressed, Jesus was kept cracking up with nervous embarrassment; he felt so sorry for Daryl, who clearly cared very much about Rick’s opinion of him. 

Daryl simply wished for death. 

 

________

 

Michonne had called shotgun, so Daryl was slouched awkwardly between Tara and Jesus in the back, crossbow between his knees. Tara took one long look at his beet red face and mottled neck and went back to staring out the window, brows aloft. 

They drove in silence for a while. Michonne did a slow scan of the radio with the volume low; nothing. Rick cleared his throat just as Michonne piped in, “Did you hear the wildlife last night, Daryl?”

His chest seized up for a moment. “Huh? Nah. Maybe. Dunno. Passed out pretty hard most of the night,” he rumbled, a fresh wave of heat washing over his face. “You hear a possum or somethin’?” 

“Do those even make sounds? It was more like a fox, or raccoons or something, I don’t know.” She waved it off, giving Rick some side-eye. She could tell something was up by the way Rick had returned to the car to wait with her, tight-lipped with a far off look in his eyes. He’d waved it off, though. Said Daryl had slept in, was all, so they’d have to wait a bit.

Jesus smirked and elbowed him gently, eyes curbside. Daryl frowned and elbowed him back, harder, then slouched further, leaning on him as subtly as he could. He was exhausted. “Was probably us, we were talkin’ for a bit. And yeah, the youngin’s make noise sometimes.”

“Was more of an odd scream,” Rick interjected.

“Yeah, kinda’ like that.” He wasn’t lying.

Paul caught the driver’s eye in the rear view mirror and raised his eyebrows, daring him not to drop it. Rick returned his gaze to the road, silent.

Daryl knew a talk was coming. Even if it was just congratulations or praise, the anticipation of it made him cringe. Especially with someone for whom he’d had to process so many confusing feelings. The thought of Rick being OK with this felt so final; even though he was happy that Rick was with Michonne, it stung. Even though everything felt right, in a way that was so good it terrified him, and made him worry at his lip over what might happen to take it all away again, for some reason, it hurt. 

At least Tara wasn’t riding his ass, with her face smashed against the window, asleep. He poked his index finger into Paul’s loosely-curled fist where it lay on his lap, and sighed, settling his head on the backrest and closing his eyes. 

Paul gathered his hand discretely and gave it a squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that happened? I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this but I'm definitely entertaining myself, so there's that.
> 
> Please! Inform me if I'm missing important tags, I'll fix them right away! I'm new to this and I would very much like to avoid upsetting anyone.


	4. Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They run some errands and talk some shit out. Nothing steamy to see here.

Daryl slept quietly for most of the trip, falling onto Tara's shoulder. Paul leaned across his lap to poke his head into the front. He chatted quietly with Michonne, asking questions about her swordsmanship, her life, and dreams before the turn. He was thrilled to learn that she shared his appreciation for literature and they arrived at their destination eager to get home and swap books.

An overturned big rig divided the scavenged section of the wreckage from the untouched mess. After scaling the axle and mounting its side, Jesus grabbed Michonne’s hand and pulled her up. Together they surveyed the epic snarl. 

While a lot of wrecks had been cleared since the turn, some, like this fifty-vehicle pile-up, simply became scribbled-out sections of road on their maps, with too many loitering walkers to be worth the risk. Jesus inspected everything through binoculars while Michonne sketched a layout of the road and roughed out the positions of vehicles. 

With a swampy ravine to one side and a sharp incline to the other, there was no getting around it in a car; some had already tried, and were dangling sideways, caught in the trees on the steep slope, or wheels-up in the murky water below. The only reason they had scouted the recreational centre was because Daryl’s bike could be squeezed past, and even that had been daunting with a few surprises clawing and snapping at their ankles. Taking the scenic route by truck wouldn’t have been worth the gas had the place been too overrun or under-stocked. 

Daryl and Tara had their eyes on the woods and the road for any walkers that might approach. Rick checked the mangled vehicles their side of the semi one last time for any cargo or parts that could be salvaged, but the outskirts of the wreck had been picked clean, save for the scattered remains waiting to be burned. 

He rapped on the fuselage on the rig’s underside with his ear to it, and the noise drew Daryl’s attention. “Still half full; if we can get it upright again, it might run.” 

“Huh?” Daryl shielded his eyes from the sun until he entered the shade of the truck. “If we get it runnin’ we can use it to move the rest of this mess.” Daryl looked over the visible underbelly and all the lines seemed to be intact. The hitch had been disengaged, as though someone had already begun a recovery attempt. 

He pulled out his machete and hacked his way through the saplings and vines in the ditch, cutting a path around the nose of the truck. The windows had been smashed out, but the cab was empty and clean, suggesting the driver had survived the accident. He turned his gaze out over the wreckage and saw Michonne and Jesus hopping from vehicle to vehicle where they had been crushed together, their silhouettes striding over a glittering sea of ruin in the morning sun. 

Rick came around to join him, followed by Tara with a bundle of gas cans threaded together with some tubing. Before Daryl could holler for them to keep close, the scout and the samurai stopped halfway to the blind curve and continued counting. 

“I’m taking a look around, you boys fill these up and keep an eye out.” Tara dropped the bundle of jerry cans at their feet and pulled a handkerchief tight around her nose and mouth. She set off with a crowbar, popping windows and downing walkers with equal boredom. She began cracking trunks open and pulling useful items to wait for collection on the roof. 

The irony of siphoning gas with a cop would never be lost on Daryl. He could SEE Rick waiting until Tara was out of earshot; here it comes. 

“Listen, uh. Daryl.” 

“Hwat?” His thumb blocked the tubing. His voice was small and choked and he cleared the fumes he’d accidentally sucked into his lungs with a long wheezing cough, before continuing to draw air through and then cramming the burbling end into a gas can to drain.

He crouched so they could be eye-to-eye, “firstly, I’m sorry I walked in on you.”

Daryl scoffed, glaring up from his task. “I keep tellin’ ya’ you can’t just knock and come in without waitin'-" 

"I know, Daryl, I wasn't thinking. I had no idea-"

"Hell, you got a teenage kid, y’oughta know better!” Daryl chewed his lip contemptuously, feeling the heat spread to his ears.

Rick grimaced and nodded, swiping some sweat off his neck. “It won’t happen again, alright? I haven’t told anyone, not even Michonne. I won’t. That’s up to you.”

Daryl responded with a minimal shrug. “Well ain’t that generous, seein' as how it ain’t yer business to start with.” He felt his heart in his throat. Rick’s stupid blue eyes on him were starting to make his skin prick and he wanted the attention off himself; it was too early for this. 

“Listen, Daryl, it doesn’t change how I see you. I’m _happy_ for you. I don’t care-”

“Yeah, I know ya don’t,” Daryl cut him off, a little too aggressively. As soon as the fuel began to dribble he pulled the tube out and screwed the lid on the can, his face twisted in a flustered scowl.

Rick sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Could ya’ just drop it? Deal with it?” There was a pleading ache to his gruff request. 

Rick followed him through the wreckage while Daryl banged on cars, looking them over, making sure they were well and truly fucked before deciding to drain them. “When were you going to tell me? Were you ever? Do you think you can’t talk to me?” He was trying to keep his voice down.

“It _just_ happened, alright?” he growled, hushed. He didn't really care about Tara or Michonne knowing, he just didn't want Jesus to hear them talking about him, even though it was obvious he was giving them the space to. He shoved the tubing and an empty can into Rick’s arms. When they reached another car that was plenty mangled, with the fuselage still intact, he drove a crowbar into it and cracked the lid off at the hinges. “Your turn.” 

Rick seemed to accept that excuse, having fed it to his own son at one point. He fed the line into the tank and knelt, sucking air from it and feeling the pull of gas at the other end of the line. Unlike Daryl, he didn’t actually draw the fumes into his lungs. 

Unlike Rick, Daryl kept his eyes on their surroundings, anxious about anyone wandering too far and getting swarmed. He could see that Tara had woven her way over to where Michonne made notes from the top of a land rover that was boxed in perpendicular to traffic. Paul had joined her in rummaging through a front-smashed-in Volkswagen van, trunk busted open, the hoods and roofs around them now decorated with open suitcases, coolers and miscellaneous bags. Daryl wanted to call out to the other three not to go any farther, but he didn’t want to draw the dead out from the woods with his voice. 

Rick was patient. He knew if he waited long enough, Daryl would open up.

Daryl lowered his crossbow and opened another jerry can to replace the one that was almost full, passing it to Rick. He took one last look around and sat next to his friend in the shade of the station wagon they were draining, then pulled out the pack of drum to roll a cigarette. 

“So when you say it just happened, do you mean this morning, or...” the mischievous twinkle in his eye was hard to ignore.

Daryl shoved him, a shy smile dancing across his lips. “Yesterday.”

“Before the party, or after?”

Daryl looked over while innocently sealing his cigarette with his tongue, “Both.”

Rick raised his eyebrows and ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Oh yeah? At your place?”

He tucked the smoke behind his ear for when they weren’t anywhere near an open can of gasoline. “In yer truck," he laughed, a quick huff. “Might wanna put a towel down fer yer girl.” 

Rick blinked and pointed in the direction of their truck, "In that thing? The bike would’ve been a little more romantic, don’t you think?"

Daryl snorted and shot to his feet, shaking his head and red-faced, sniffing out more fuel with his crowbar. If Rick really wanted to know, he wasn’t going to spare him the details, but sharing them was going to take some getting used to. Maybe he’d find some petty revenge in it after being strung along for years. 

“I told you so, by the way,” Rick told his back. 

“Bout what?”

“That boy had eyes for you,” Rick waggled his finger. “From the start.”

Daryl flipped him off as he carried on away.

 

Further down the line, Michonne tucked her scratch pad into her vest and squinted down at the rummaging pair. They were waist-deep in the hoard now; someone had lived out of the mini bus for a while before the turn had come, but there was no trace to be found of the previous owners. “You two look sound you’ve hit paydirt, but I’m not seeing anything useful.” 

“Are you kidding?” Jesus barked from inside. Tara clambered backwards, dragging a heavy chest that Jesus helped push from the opposite side. He climbed out and they lowered it to the pavement, surrounded by bins and boxes overflowing with colourful clothing, silverware, books and records, a couple of bicycles and a lava lamp. Together they opened the lid, loosing a waft of patchouli. They shared a giddy look before reverently lifting an enormous glass bong from a nest of pillows and blankets. 

“Oh, my god. Claimed,” Tara whispered. They giggled. 

“Really?” Michonne rolled her eyes and turned to go and look for Rick and Daryl. 

“Only if I get the guitar,” mused Jesus as he dug deeper into the chest, finding smaller boxes containing knick-knacks, carvings and other decorative things. 

“All yours, if I can borrow the case,” she was already removing the guitar and packing the ornately colourful glass piece inside of it, swaddled carefully in blankets and clothes.

“Go for it.” Jesus pried open a small cookie tin, hoping for sewing supplies. His eyes widened, and he silently passed it to Tara, who gasped. 

Michonne came hopping back over the cars with an armful of gently-used trash bags. “They’re loading the gas into the truck, we should wrap this up.” 

Tara hastily stuffed the tin into the guitar case and shut it, startled. “Yep!” 

Jesus stood and took a handful of bags from Michonne, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. The ludicrous stare from Tara made him pause. “What?”

Her eyebrows were sky high. “Does Daryl know you took those?”

 

After stowing the fuel, Rick and Daryl set off to help the others with collection. Michonne’s shriek startled Rick into drawing his weapon at a run, but as they rounded the semi they were met with the boisterous commotion of Michonne and Tara howling with laughter. Jesus was stalking toward them, red-cheeked and still coming off a laugh, with a bursting bag over one shoulder and a nylon string guitar in the other hand.

Daryl gestured upwards with open palms and Jesus shrugged past him, almost looking embarrassed. 

They worked together rounding up their booty, packing some heavier items back into the cars for another time. A few walkers hissed and gurgled from where they were snared in the twisted metal ruin. They were left to their purgatory; when the crew returns to continue the salvage, the greener recruits might get the chance to tuck a few kills under their belts.

The trip back had Michonne driving with Tara "navigating". Jesus was crammed between Rick and Daryl in the back; they were sweating. Paul was leaning into the front to show Tara his music collection.

"Hah, I remember making these. Are they yours?" She asked about the hand-labelled discs.

"A few, most of them were gifts. My boyfriend always made one for my birthday, and when we graduated high school my friends and I swapped… yeah, cheesy, I know," The adoring face Tara had given him made him laugh. A forlorn look crossed his face when she looked away, then he directed her attention back to the classics, hoping to find something no one would complain about.

Rick massaged Michonne’s shoulders. He was not invited to choose between Fleetwood Mac or Aerosmith. Rick no longer had a musical say on road trips.

Daryl played with his lip as he gazed out the window, leg bouncing impatiently as he waited for the sky to fall. The laughter of his friends still echoed in his head, keeping him on edge. 

Any minute, now.

 

________

 

The trip felt much shorter with music, and seeing Jesus and Tara sharing a few laughs and singing along helped Daryl to relax a little, even if it made him feel like a bit of a wallflower. He still felt a strong need to be alone for a while to process the anxiousness he couldn't quite explain, and got straight to business unpacking the truck the moment they pulled in, avoiding all eye contact. 

After they’d unloaded, Michonne found Jesus standing at the memorial wall, hands clasped as he gazed at the columns of names painted in black. 

She mirrored his pose to his right. “You’re giving him space, that’s good.”

Paul wasn’t sure how to respond beyond a small droop in his shoulders; he’d actually needed it more for himself. The last 24 hours had given him a lot to process, and he still wasn’t even certain he hadn’t made a massive mistake. He could sense that Daryl was on edge, as always, but wasn’t sure he could handle one of his sulks in their tenuous state. Not without losing his cool temper. He hadn't expected getting close to the man would fix anything; he hadn't expected to get close at all. 

After the war, Daryl had been withdrawn for months, and practically slept through the winter, when he wasn't pitching an angry restless fit because he wasn't permitted to take action with his body on the mend. In the spring, once his bones and wounds and lungs had healed, he was returned to the Grimes family. Jesus had slowly increased his presence in Alexandria; they were far more proficient in scavenging than most of the Hilltop residents, and he felt that Hilltop owed them more than just vegetables after helping to obliterate the Saviors. 

Daryl had improved a lot before they finally connected. There were a few runs with Rick, Daryl and others repairing the roads and combing over looted shops, and a few with Daryl alone; sharing his bike saved them the most fuel and gave them the widest scouting range. They’d found a rhythm and quiet cooperation forming between them, but after a few close calls Daryl had become surprisingly upset seeing Paul in danger. After that, the avoidance had begun, deeming him "too careless", and the archer went from joking with him to hiding every time he came around. He’d had to beg Rick to talk him into one more run, and give him the chance to figure things out.

Now they were sharing a bed, and the seismic impact of that in his life had him reeling. He’d read of sailors who still felt the swaying of waves beneath their feet while standing on solid land. He imagined that would feel similar to whatever it was he was experiencing now. Everything tentatively felt so right when they were alone together, and now the rest of his life felt off. 

Michonne lowered her gaze from the wall of names and bowed her head, a pained sigh escaping her. “Some friendly advice? Don’t let him pull away now; he’ll see it as rejection. He clearly trusts you, and this must be new to him. Make sure you’re direct with him and talk things through. His imagination might get out of hand if you leave him to figure things out for himself.”

He watched her and listened, looking peaky and almost bewildered. “You think he’ll talk?”

“You’d be surprised.” She offered a hopeful smile, and he returned it gratefully. 

 

Paul found Daryl in his kitchen once again, looking much more alive this time. Diced onion and thawed venison were browning in the pot before he added sizzling diced tomatoes and gelatinous bone broth to simmer. He covered the pot and wiped his hands, and was surprised to see Paul watching when he turned around. Paul smiled and coolly excused himself to do some washing up. 

He inexplicably craved the calm comfort and solitude of Hilltop, the daily hectic toil of tending and mending, but he was overcome with anxiety at the thought of saying goodbye to Daryl, even if only temporary. In this world, with any parting of ways there was the chance it would be the last. All of it hit him the moment he stepped into the shower. 

Paul couldn’t pin his sudden mood crash on any one thing; Alexandria was simply overwhelming to him, with so many strong-willed characters, intense personalities and unfamiliar social dynamics. He could get along well with anyone but it was wearing him thin, and he still felt a little bit fake doing it. 

The war had overwhelmed him; the downhill struggle of maintaining order in Hilltop while Negan bled them dry, and then dropped the axe. Maggie, and her heart-wrenching loss. She was the only Alexandrian who understood how much he’d lost, who saw his insecurities alongside his strengths, more so than Daryl, and that imbalance twisted anxiously in his chest. 

He had all the physical comfort he could have ever possibly asked for from Daryl and yet something was still missing. 

It still felt unreal; maybe he wasn’t as ready as he thought he was. Maybe they were both tumbling headlong into a huge mistake that would get them both killed. It felt too good to be true, and out of his control. This wasn’t something he felt certain he could plan around.

He wanted to go back to Hilltop. Hilltop before it was attacked, strangled, burned, and swarmed. He wanted to go back to that gut feeling that their plans had been too hasty, that he should have known Alexandria lacked the numbers to take on Negan’s men. Had he done half the footwork he should have, they would have known better, planned better. Had he trusted his gut about Gregory…

But that would also mean going back to the Daryl he’d met, that cocky redneck eager for a fight, before he was tortured within an inch of his life. Even in the short time Paul had known him, he’d grown so much. He knew it was through no lack of personal effort that Daryl maintained his strength and his courage. There was a calm confidence to him now, and his friends were clearly proud of him. There had been no doubt that this event would be the last straw that broke him, and he’d proven them all wrong. There was no way Daryl would have opened up without the conscious willingness to do so, and sometime between then and now, he’d made that choice. Paul felt a tremendous pressure not to let him down.

He left the cool shower as soon as he felt the heat rinse from his face without welling up again. He dried himself and dressed, taking care of his teeth while he waited for his reflection to look a little less hysterical. Gentle notes were fumbled from the other side of the door. Of all things, Michonne had wanted to ensure that Paul had no plans to abandon this man. He thought of the book, and the invisible barriers he’d spent so long bashing his head against with no plans on what to do should he succeed in breaking through. All those books he’d read aloud in whispers to the sleeping archer with broken ribs. Daryl hadn’t said he wouldn’t talk, only that he wasn’t ready. Paul hoped that when he was, he would have the courage and presence of mind to listen.

 

When the bathroom door opened, Daryl tamped out the last chord he’d strummed and set the guitar against the wall. Paul took a quiet seat beside him at the foot of the bed. Daryl sat up and put his arm around the scout, somewhat mechanically. He hoped Paul didn’t notice how awkward it felt for him. 

“Whassup?”

Paul sniffed, and that was when Daryl realized he’d been crying. 

“Hey.” He pressed his lips to the slighter man’s flaxen crown, giving him an encouraging squeeze. “Talk to me,” he rasped gently. Daryl couldn’t believe he was the one doing the comforting. He felt both relieved and freshly troubled when Paul finally looked up at him, all blotchy-faced and damp lashes. His eyes were bluer than ever, glossy and tinged with sorrow.

“Just not ready to go back.” It was the first thing that came to mind, but it was no lie. He gave a brisk, melancholy laugh, resting his head comfortably on Daryl’s broad, sculpted shoulder. 

“Yeah, I hear ya’. Not ready to watch you roll out a’ those gates without me.” 

“Are you sure you’ll miss me? I mean, it’s been a lot. I’m afraid I’m being too much, or something, I don’t know.”

“The hell? Why’d ya’ think that?” 

“Don’t know. Always have been. Everyone always thinks I’m ‘fake’, whatever that means. Plus, I’m still used to you avoiding me for days every time I look at you?” He sniffed dryly and picked up the guitar, quietly, habitually tuning it with dampened strings.

“Did I really?” he mumbled, thinking back on all the times he’d stalked off red-faced, certain he was being teased; he could think of no other way to process a compliment. He supposed it would look that way to someone with low self esteem, but he’d simply thought that was the reaction he was looking for. Maybe the scout had other ways of hiding his insecurity; he seemed more emotionally aware to Daryl. He envied the openness; he hadn’t realized how flat his own expression was until he’d read more about his own afflictions. 

“Yeah. You did. Maybe not on purpose. I might be oversensitive to it; I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Daryl laid back on the bed, stretching his spine out, making it pop in several places. “Nah. I like when ya talk. Makes up for me.”

Paul smiled fondly before he grew sullen again. “If we’re being honest, I’m worried that I’ve pushed this on you, when I’m not even sure if you like me.”

“If I didn’t like you it wouldn’t a’ happened, man. Ya’ think I can’t defend myself?” Paul's self-doubt was nothing short of alarming to Daryl. It was becoming clear just how hyper-critical the man was being on himself. 

Paul imagined trying to physically overpower the much larger man and it felt both arousing and hilarious; he laughed nervously. “I guess, now that I’ve taught you a few moves. I don't know, I've fallen hard for guys who only saw me as the first sucker to come along..."

Daryl heard him out thoughtfully. “Well, you _were_ the first one ta’ suck my dick. Shoulda’ thought of all that before ya’ went down on me.”

“Daryl!” Paul punched his thigh playfully.

The hunter laughed and shoved him off the bed with his foot. 

“Seriously!” He put the guitar down and crossed his arms, standing with his back to the wall where Daryl couldn’t fuck with him, quashing a smile.

“M’sorry, but I think you know me better'n that. I've turned down plenty of invitations. I’m serious about you, though." He looked down at his hands. "Ain’t never felt this way ‘bout anyone,” he murmured warmly, gentle eyes on the scout as he spoke. He inspected his thumb and decided to gnaw on it.

Paul breathed a deep sigh, hanging his head. “I’m glad. It’s just a lot to take in. For me, I mean. I’m honestly surprised you aren’t scared of this.” Suddenly he looked smaller, hugging himself in a threadbare t-shirt and the same pants he always wore, now bearing two days’ worth of gore, grease and dust.

Daryl stood up and walled him in protectively, forehead to forehead. “Who said I’m not?”

Paul leaned into Daryl’s palm when it was placed on his cheek. “Can I ask you something?”

Daryl pulled back to look at him, feeling a painful burn rise from his chest to his face. “Yeah?”

“Have you told anyone?”

Daryl blinked. “Rick knows…”

“Accidentally. Would you have told him?”

“What, like today? Why would I?”

“I mean, did he ever know you’re gay? Does anyone?”

Daryl’s face burned at that, and his throat tightened. Why did that word feel like a knife twisting in his chest? He knew better. He was fine with it... so long as it was someone else, he guessed. 

“How would I even know that? I told ya’, you’re the first,” he choked out, shrugging meekly. One of his hands kneaded the palm of the other where the meaty pad between thumb and forefinger was wrought with blistered, scarred flesh. “You’re the only one. If you were a girl I’d still…”

He puffed softly, smiling, “yeah but I’m not a girl, Daryl.”

“Well no shit! But that’s not why I’m into you, shit.” He felt his throat growing tight with frustration and took a deep, calming breath. 

Paul pulled him close, long arms encircling his shoulders. “So you’re bi?” he whispered into his ear, and Daryl could hear his teasing smile.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ almighty,” he mumbled, trying to crush the air from the scout’s lungs with a growl.

“I’m kidding. Stop!” Paul wheezed before Daryl released him. He laughed and breathed a shaky sigh. 

They stood in each other’s arms for a minute while the next world soaked in. 

“Would’ve told him after you left, probably.”

“Really.” Paul pulled back a bit to look at him, his doubtful smirk softening to something warmer when he saw the redness in Daryl’s cheeks. “Can I tell anyone about you?”

Daryl wavered a bit, feeling hot and dizzy as his heart immediately attempted to pound out of his chest. He took a deep breath and willed himself to relax his shoulders a little. “You askin’ me out officially?”

Paul slipped his arms down between them, hands coming to a rest splayed over his broad chest. “Yes.”

An immense relief washed over him for some reason, and it stung his eyes. He closed them, resting his forehead against Paul’s. “Alright then, if you got to. Better not cheat on me, though. Better not stay away too long, neither.” His voice came out a little choked. 

Paul smiled at that; he’d always been impressed that someone as taciturn as Daryl was such a quick negotiator, even under intense pressure. He nudged the hunter's head up and kissed his lips. “That reminds me, I still owe you a cow.”

"Yeah, you do." Daryl smiled a little, and held him a moment longer, drawing in his scent, soap and fresh sweat and horses and clover. This was real now. While some echo of darker times insisted he feel ashamed for having something that felt _good_ , he would try not to. 

There was a warmth that blossomed in his chest knowing he had someone who cared for him, someone he could care for. He had always felt strange about hugging people, afraid to share that kind of softness, always wanted to be hard, untouchable. With Paul, however, he found that even though he recoiled initially, the part of him that didn’t want to let go won. Something fit. He was beginning to suspect his heart had already surrendered a while ago, without waiting for his consent. 

When they pulled apart, Daryl saw the tears had returned his eyes. He cupped Paul’s sweet face and kissed him again. 

“We done talkin’ yet?”

Paul gave a crooked smile and cleared his throat, trying to find his serious voice again. “For now. I feel better. Thank you.” 

"Mhmm." Daryl patted the small of his back reassuringly. “I gotta finish cookin’ and check the snares before it’s dark. Hungry?” 

“Ravenous.” Paul followed him downstairs. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m sure Rick could use a hand in the garden. Or you could come along, if ya want.” Part of him was eager to decompress, alone in the woods for a few hours, but he’d have time for that tomorrow; thinking about it made his heart sink a little. He decided he could tolerate the scout slowing him down for now.

“Hmm, weeding with Dad or trapping with my hot boyfriend... I’m grateful for the invitation.” 

Daryl grunted and shook his head, chewing back a smile as he looked away, the strongly-worded compliment bringing warmth to his cheeks. 

He took the lid off the pot and gave it a stir, giving a few morsels a prod to test their tenderness, then giving the stir a lick to test for seasoning. He dug into the pantry behind some plastic bowls and pulled out a bottle of wine, uncorking it and setting it aside after adding a splash to the stew. He pulled a potato and a few carrots from the fridge, which Paul recognized as Hilltop’s. He scrubbed the skins carefully so he could leave them on, not wanting to waste the flavour and texture.

“Should be done as soon as these soften up.”

Paul admired his arms working as he chopped the carrots and potatoes and scooped them into the pot with the blade. 

“Has anyone ever told you how sweet you are?” 

Daryl snorted as he gave the contents a stir, the aromas wafting up and filling the room. “All the damn time. Gets annoyin’.”

Paul smiled broadly as Daryl poured two glasses of wine, or in this case, wide-mouthed jam jars, and handed him one.

“Cheers.”

 

________

 

It was late evening by the time they set off, so they packed a few flash lights and signed out a couple of handguns, just in case. Daryl brought along two containers of their leftover dinner for Eugene and Sasha, who manned the gateway. 

“When should we expect you back?” Sasha squinted down at them from the overlook, the sunset casting her hand’s shadow over her eyes.

“We’re takin’ the wide perimeter trail to check the snares. Shouldn’t be more’n a couple hours, more like one and a half?” Daryl was sealing his boots over his pants with duct tape, and bent to do the same for Jesus. Ticks were a nuisance, and Daryl had covered his hair and neck with bandanas as well. 

Sasha was already tucking into the stew, and gave an uncharacteristic grunt. “All right. This is amazing, by the way. Thanks.”

Eugene pried the lid off. “This smells exceptionally good. Who’s the chef?”

“You c’n thank Jesus here for most of what’s in there. Throwin’ it together was nothin’,” Daryl answered, hauling the gate open himself before Jesus could even say anything. 

“I am truly in your debt. Get back in one piece or Rick’s gonna smoke me for lettin' you out this late.” 

Daryl flipped him off lovingly. 

Eugene shut the gate behind them and sat on his milk crate to eat.

 

Both heady with wine and drowsy from the meal, they slogged through the evening heat, Jesus kept behind Daryl at his instruction after he pointed out some of the bear traps that were so well-hidden beneath the leaves he'd almost stepped in them. Colourful scraps of fabric marked the trees near his traps so they were easy to find. Having Jesus along to put down the walkers was a pleasant break for Daryl, and allowed him to keep his bow loaded with clean bolts for any additional prey they might spot. He had to admit he'd always admired the way the scout moved when he fought. 

By the time they were crossing the road that marked the halfway point, they had a brace of rabbits and four squirrels. 

There was no visible break in the bush where Daryl led him back into the thick of it, but he quickly found the deer trail again. Paul kept quiet and observant, not wanting to be guilty of scaring off game, but couldn’t help feeling uneasy with the prolonged silence. As if he’d read his mind, Daryl cleared his throat and pointed off to their right where a drop in the terrain and a clear view of the sunset through the canopy indicated a ravine

“’Round this way’s still dry, but in the winter there’s a creek. Might get some ducks later on in the year. Decent froggin’ too,” his voice was low, serene, and immediately placating. 

Paul opened his mouth to respond, but Daryl stopped in his tracks to listen, and Paul heard the disgusting sounds as well. 

“Ah, shit.” Daryl whispered, slung his crossbow back and pulled a knife. They hurried on to the next trap, where two walkers were gorging on a dead doe. They put them down easily, and Paul felt his heart sink looking over all the wasted meat.

“Piece o’ shit, what a fuckin’ waste. Hate using these,” he grumbled, actually pulling up the chain and disconnecting the bear trap from the tree to fling into the woods in anger. 

“Why'd you use them, then?” 

“Some kid found ‘em in a garage, seemed proud to give them to me, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Show ‘em how to set the traps and shit. Knew this would happen, though…” Daryl was eager to move the fuck on, but something caught Paul’s eye.

“Wait up.” He stepped off the path a few feet, and knelt, a dappled patch of leaf litter having caught his eye.

Daryl came up behind him and whispered, “Aw hell, Paul. It’ll probably die anyways. Gonna holler if you try to pick it up.”

Paul sighed. “I know, but we can’t just leave it out here, if that was the mother. Give me your bag.” 

He emptied the contents of his bag into Daryl’s, save for a towel, which he used to scoop up the fawn, muffling it’s frenzied wails as he stuffed the kicking animal into his bag, shushing desperately as a gangly leg whacked him in the chin. The creature went quiet in the darkness of his rucksack. They waited a moment to see if any walkers were drawn to the noise.

“Think we should keep going?”

Daryl rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. “I gotta. Didn’t check these yesterday, wouldn’t be right to leave ‘em another night. Let’s hope that li’l thing stays quiet.”

Forty minutes later, they stumbled out of the woods between two of the dilapidated bungalows that lined the approach to Alexandria. There hadn’t been a peep out of the fawn and Paul was starting to wonder if it had already died. Daryl seemed pleased with his haul. Both of them were wiped out as they passed through the gates and dragged their feet back to Daryl’s house. 

After lining a cozy box with old towels they carefully placed the trembling fawn inside, covering it so it would stop wailing. 

Daryl peeled the sweaty bandana off his head and scratched at his scalp. “This thing ain’t stayin’ here, man, hope you realize it’s gonna be a huge nuisance.” 

Paul stood and pulled off his hat and gloves, tossing them onto the couch with his coat. “Yeah, I’m well aware; I’ll be catching hell if it gets into the gardens. We’ve already got some goats fenced in, though; if one of the nans lets it suckle it should grow up to be big and tasty.” 

Daryl’s brows lifted sceptically. “Ain’t foolin’ nobody, a week from now you’ll be callin’ it cookie or some shit ‘n lettin’ it sleep in yer bed.” 

Paul waved him off with a chuckle. “I’ll just be happy if it lives.” His expression turned to worry. “I’ll need a bottle to feed it.” 

“We’ll go next door after I’m done cleanin’ these.” He lifted the string of small game. “You c’n go on ahead, but I kinda wanna see the kid's reaction.” He shrugged shyly and took his kills to the back porch to start skinning. 

 

It was late by the time they’d packed the meat into the freezer and returned from the Grimes residence. They’d agreed the fawn couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, and Carl had offered, begged really, to watch it overnight after successfully encouraging it to drink some watered-down baby formula. They had hope that would be enough to keep it hydrated until they could get it some milk at Hilltop. Rick was clearly uncomfortable with keeping the flea-bitten thing in his house, while Michonne was smitten in her own twinkling, aloof way. 

Jesus began stripping off his filthy clothes the moment Daryl shut his door, and he couldn’t help but stand and stare in an exhausted daze. There was a quiet, sultry laugh from the scout when he noticed. He stepped slowly toward the hunter, peeling his sweat-soaked t-shirt up off his lean, chiselled torso and messing his long hair into his face as he pulled it over his head.

Daryl’s lips moved but no words came out. ‘Bombshell’ came to mind, but none of Merle’s candidates for the title had come anywhere close to the man now before him. 

Paul stepped so close he had to crane his neck to look at him, sliding his hands beneath his vest and pushing it off his shoulders, then slipping his fingers into the hunter’s hair and pulling out a twig with a playful smile.

“Tired?" he asked quietly, fingers working their way down the buttons of the taller man’s shirt, searching his eyes with mild concern. 

Daryl’s mouth went dry, awkwardly grasping Paul’s hands to stop him from stripping him too far. His heart was hammering in his throat and he wasn’t sure how to stop it. Knowing they would soon be separated made him feel as though he had to do everything at once, say everything he wanted to say, touch him as much as he could. He didn’t want to sleep at all despite his body screaming for it. 

“Yeah, a little. How early d'you think Maggie’s gonna get here?” 

Paul intertwined his fingers with Daryl’s, noticing all the animal blood still under their nails and caked along their cuticles. It was an oddly comforting sight. 

“We probably won’t be leaving until after noon. I think she wants to say hi to everyone.” 

Daryl looked a little relieved at that. “That gives us a little time then, don’t it. You wanna shower first?” 

“Don’t you want to join me?” Paul’s doe-eyed pout made him gag a little. 

“I uh…” he shifted, eyes darting down Paul’s bare torso, past his open belt and baggy pants to the floor. He wanted to see more, feel more, he wanted so badly to take in as much of Paul as he could, but the thought of being totally naked always made him panic. Their encounters had been close, heated, half-undressed, and primal. This was something else. “Dunno. Don’t mind the cold water, tho.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join if you change your mind.” Paul’s hands slipped from his and he backed away shyly, grabbing his towel from the doorknob and leaving the door cracked while he ran the shower and got in. 

Daryl sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands for a moment, heart drumming in his ears. He reached for the bedside drawer and pulled it open, taking out the book. The one from Atlanta, that Carol had found for him. His back itched, it always did, when he let himself notice it. There was still a little nerve damage that never quite healed, but the intrusive thoughts, his brother's voice still alive as ever in his head, were easier for him to ignore. That was all they were; just thoughts. They weren't true, and his brother had got it just as bad as a kid. As much as he knew Merle had loved him, he recognized how sick it was that Merle had tried to isolate him from his friends by insisting on his worthlessness. 

Now he only pitied the man, and wished that he'd lived long enough to realize that they didn't have to stand alone against the world. That pity brought him sadness, but it also gave him some of his power back. It gave him peace. 

Something Paul had said to him had been peculiar. Why would he ever think he was ‘too much’? What did he mean by ‘fake’? To Daryl, he was as open and honest as could be, at least when he wasn't lying strategically just to keep his people safe. While he did tend to fault people for talking too much, he recognized that now as envy on his part; others had been gifted with the dialogue to sort through their emotions, and he was still learning it, at twice their age. He'd catch up, though. He didn't want Paul to feel that he had to silence himself just because he was too inept to reciprocate. He didn't want someone so selfless to feel he was being selfish just for existing. 

Paul had spoken a fair bit about his past, when Daryl was still recovering at Hilltop, and the few nights they spent at the Kingdom as well, but he’d only ever recounted the joyful moments from before. His father had encouraged him throughout his martial arts training and had been quite a role model for him, unlike Daryl’s. He never spoke ill of his family life, but he rarely mentioned his mother, only that she never approved of anything he or his father did. 

Daryl wasn’t sure how to ask. He wasn’t sure how to explain anything either. He got up and stuffed the book in Jesus’ bag and left it at that; it had helped him more than talking to any individual had. The book couldn’t see his ugly face when he wept, and when he had heard enough, all he had to do was shut the thing. If it had helped him, maybe Paul would get something out of it too. 

Reluctantly, and after some pacing and nail biting, he peeled off his clothes and crept through the bathroom door, shutting it quietly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wanted to get some introspection and domestic fluff in, and before I knew it this was TOO LONG and time to post. Not hard to guess where the next chapter will start, though. I don't intend to make a habit out of these non-erotic chapters, the boys just had a lot to do that day. I realize this is OOC in a lot of ways, but I don't see myself as much of a writer, just a big fan of the ship, so I hope any shortcomings you find in this inspire you to write one yourself!


	5. I was someone else

Jesus hadn’t heard him come in. He’d been rinsing off as quickly as he could in the slate-tiled glass stall, having a bit of a time getting the blood and dirt out from under his nails. 

Daryl had seemed uncomfortable with joining him in the shower, and he was more than happy to leave it alone. He simply rushed to spend more of their night together in bed. When the lights flicked off as he was picking the last fleck of gore from under a nail, he dropped his hands to his side, hanging his head with an inward smirk. 

“Startin’ ta think yer usin’ me just for the hot water.” 

Daryl’s low voice sent a rush through his body. He turned carefully in the darkness when the door latched shut. Through the fogged glass, a lighter flicked to life, the flame catching on a candle’s wick and floating across the room to land on the sink. A dim glow soaked the room. The gilded edge of Daryl’s nude form strode to the glass door and opened it, stepping across the steamy threshold.

“I like to be clean… but if you’d prefer me all sweaty and bloody,” he grinned up into the hunter’s hidden eyes, stepping back to coax Daryl into his space. He took one of Daryl’s hands and pulled him gently under the shower, feeling up the front of his torso and settling his hands on his shoulders to knead them gently in the hot water. 

Daryl huffed pleasantly, rolling his head forward to knock against Jesus’ as he worked a small miracle over the tense muscles. Timidly, he wrapped his arms around his partner’s waist, pulling him closer, pressing a cheek to his wet hair. The massage morphed into a long, silent embrace. His heart was racing like a jackhammer; it always did when they were touching, but over the days he’d practised breathing through it. Though the butterflies battering his heart made no motions about quieting any time soon, the sensation was now more amusing than nauseating. 

Paul laid his head on Daryl’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck, feeling the hot, rapid pulse under his skin and inhaling his scent before it could be rinsed away. Soon his hands found their way to Daryl’s scalp, fingers threaded in silky locks gone feather soft in the warm stream, pulling him down for a slow kiss. 

Daryl felt the unease that had nagged him all evening dispelled the moment Paul’s soft lips touched his. The younger man felt so warm and real and right in his arms and whatever thoughts had been choking him before were much easier to say with just hands and lips. He needed all the closeness he could get tonight, his sole aim to soak him up before the world could pry them apart again.

The magnetism grew between the two, and Paul mouthed at him greedily, tongues caressing and hips butting against one another. Daryl’s tongue filled his mouth and he gave a long suck. 

The taller man inhaled sharply as the strange sensation sent a spasm of twisted pleasure to his gut. He seized the scout’s ass and pulled him flush and firm against himself, pulsing to life where his cock was pinned between their bodies. Paul was already stiff with arousal, sliding slowly between the taller man’s thighs as they kissed breathily, hungrily, every small gasp and moan echoing throughout the chamber. Paul had backed him up against the cool slate and Daryl continued to knead and pull at his slick, soft cheeks, spreading him, sliding his hand through his slippery crack and hooking the middle finger into his hole. 

He rose onto his tiptoes at the startling intrusion, blaspheming whisper-quiet into Daryl’s mouth. Daryl squeezed his thighs together on his dick, trapping him in a blissfully stimulating embrace. He might have even been grinning, but his face was overcast by Paul’s flickering shadow. 

The pure want rolled off Paul’s body like a cold fog, and Daryl relished all of it, one arm around his ribs to keep him supported against his body, teasing his hole with his fingertip. His eyes were well adjusted to dim light, and even in shadow Paul’s features were clear enough; the dark semi-circles of his lowered lashes, lush lips parted, the glinting halo of his wet hair edged in candlelight. Jesus in a state of unravelling was so serenely striking he had to close his eyes, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.

“Hmm, ya like that?” He crooned quietly, pushing the digit in and out slowly and feeling Paul’s dick twitch responsively between his legs. His sweetheart’s bashful reactions made his heart flutter as he hid his face against Daryl’s neck. 

“Yes. Daryl,” Paul croaked, kissing and sucking and gasping against his throat and broad clavicle. Within moments Daryl’s mouth had found his again, giving him deep lusty kiss before he began slowly sinking down his body. 

Soon Daryl was on his knees between him and the wall, kissing a quiet path down his belly while Paul’s hands locked onto his head. His quadriceps shook when Daryl grasped his balls and the base of his cock in one hand, dragging his cheek along his length and retracing the path with his tongue. This time he pushed two fingers inside and the man hissed, nearly buckling in his hands, causing a smile to spread. Daryl dragged his teeth along the firm length before stuffing it into his mouth. 

Paul’s forehead smacked the wall with a harsh groan. He swatted the lever to cut the flow to the shower, leaving them with the tired gurgle of the drain and then silence. Now he could hear the wet sounds of Daryl’s mouth in tandem with the intense sensations it provided. He sucked his own fingers in a slow trance, mimicking the tongue slithering against his sensitive organ as pleasure rippled up through his nerves. After his were well slicked with saliva he reached behind to join Daryl’s fingers in opening himself up. He cupped the back of his lover’s head with the other hand to keep it from hitting the stone wall as he thrust, slowly, carefully and loosely, into his mouth, revelling in the symphony of slurping and panting, soon joining in with his own grunts and whimpers.

Daryl loved the taste of him, loved the way he could feel Paul react around their fingers when he teased his cock with his tongue. He was oddly comforted worshipping the young man on his knees. Under the safe blanket of darkness, he felt his insecurities take a back seat to the primal yearning for flesh-on-flesh contact. Every lick of friction heated his blood, every small sound of pleasure jumping his heart. Their union felt so alive and vibrant, and now that the floodgates had cracked and burst, he wanted all of it. All of him. A stuttered gasp and a painful yank on his hair pulled him off the scout’s cock, hanging in the air and dancing on the edge of release right before his lips. Already?

Daryl looked up at him and he could have sworn he caught a flash of teeth in the murk, an exhale that could have been a monosyllabic laugh or a breathless pant. 

“Not yet,” he begged, legs shaking as he braced himself on Daryl’s shoulders and lowered himself to his knees, straddling Daryl’s thighs. Shining like the void, their eyes locked. He licked his palm and wrapped both hands around Daryl’s meaty shaft, smoothing them over the skin lightly and smearing the precum over the head with his palm. 

Daryl nudged his nose against Paul’s and tilted his head closer, trying to ignore the stimulation below and focus on the taste of his lips, teeth like a string of pearls against his tongue, beard scratching his cheek as the kiss deepened. Paul adjusted his position and after a preparatory inhale he felt himself push past the tight ring into the snug embrace of his body, the angle of their kiss growing steeper as Paul lowered himself. He rocked his hips subtly, sinking Daryl’s cock deep inside and coming to a rest in his lap. 

The hunter was struggling to ignore the crushing heat and building pressure, gathering Paul’s hair in his hands and kissing his face, ears and throat fiercely, pulling and holding him closer for a shaky moment. 

Paul swallowed, stuck for words, Daryl stretched him, filled him, they fit together so perfectly, his unmoving girth already pressing on all the nerves that drove him wild. He caressed the older man’s face, smoothed his hair, diving in to kiss and nibble an earlobe. He felt a responsive thrust jab him deep inside and gasped, broad hands petting his body as Daryl shifted beneath him to stretch out his legs, gripping his pelvis to keep him fully impaled. 

Daryl leaned back against the cool tile and gaped wordlessly as the lithe man in his lap rested back on the heels of his hands, laid out before him like a feast, and Daryl wished he’d left the lights on. The scout’s hips began to lift and fall as the hunter’s hands roamed his body, his head falling back. With every slow thrust that fat cock was rolling over his prostate, causing random muscles to twitch and seize as he rode. 

“God damn, Daryl, you feel so good,” he whimpered. 

“Mmm.” 

Paul gasped when he felt Daryl grasp and tease his strained erection with a light touch. His hips responded, missing a beat before resuming his pace, chasing more of the friction his palm provided. 

Daryl tried to keep his breathing slow and steady but the pleasure only seemed to build faster as Paul’s body tugged and stroked and milked him. He watched it all in a lusty haze, ignoring his own peak as it boiled over and gushed inside of Paul with a harsh shudder and an irrepressible gasp. The hot wave of added slickness was hard to miss and Paul gaped at him. 

“Daryl? Ohh, fuck…” Paul groaned, grasped Daryl’s hand and crushed it closed around his dick as his thrusts grew erratic, clenching around the hunter’s spent semi-hard dick as he shot his load over the man’s broad chest, his legs quivering, the muscles of his torso rippling and straining with release. After a few heavy breaths he pulled himself forward and collapsed against the larger man. 

This. This is good, Daryl thought, holding Paul to him, messy long hair tickling his cheek, their breaths drifting in and out of synch. With a trembling, gentle hand he combed Paul’s hair off his face and neck, sweeping it all to one side so he could kiss his cheek and jaw and shoulder, tasting a fresh sheen of sweat. He reached the tap easily and turned the shower on again, refreshingly cool at first. 

“We should get to bed,” Paul sighed the words, every kiss tugging at the tired ache that had made its home in his ribcage. When he tried to get off the man and stand, Daryl tightened his grip, which made him laugh low. It wasn’t until he kissed him once more, chaste, eyes closed, that he earned his freedom. 

“‘M not that tired,” Daryl lied. He let Paul help him up and pull him into the cool stream again, even let him rub a bar of soap over his chest and smooth away the mess he’d left. 

He towelled off in his small walk-in closet while Paul brushed his teeth, rushing into a t-shirt and the last clean pair of boxer-briefs that didn’t have gaping holes in conspicuous places; he was almost relieved that Paul was taking off so he could wash his (good) clothes and skip a few showers while catching up on his Alexandrian chores. By the time Paul padded out with a towel wrapped around his waist, he was already on the bed rolling a cigarette. 

Daryl caught him gazing when he looked up, startling him out of a thought. 

He cleared his throat and scrutinized the heap of crumpled laundry that had gathered on the floor around his bag, shaking out a crinkled t-shirt with a snap before giving it a sniff and frowning. 

“Um. Would you have a shirt I could borrow tonight? Mine are all…” 

“Yea, I might. Have a look, help yer self,” he shrugged, peripherally aware of the slender man entering his closet and pulling the light on. He sat on the window side of the bed to light his smoke, and wasn’t sure if he’d heard a small chuckle or not. Soon the bed shifted until trim arms slipped around his middle, only the finger tips poking out from the baggy, worn linen sleeves he vaguely recognized as something he’d deemed too light in colour and uncomfortably tight months ago.

“It was the smallest one I could find,” Jesus murmured, resting his chin wearily on the thick muscle of Daryl’s shoulder. When offered a drag, he accepted, exhaled sharply and kissed the exposed ear beside his cheek. The hunter’s head turned, nose scrunched, to lay a scratchy peck on his cheek in return.

“Keep it, if ya want it.” 

Paul’s eyes crinkled with a weary smile. He melted into the warmth of Daryl’s back, his chest flat against it. This was how it had been the first time he’d really sensed some sort of connection forming, minus the freezing fog whipping through his hair, turning his ears and nose to ice, asphalt tearing by beneath their feet. The hunter’s stony, broad, leather-clad back was his only source of stability and warmth on their first scouting mission from Alexandria. He was almost ashamed to feel the kindling take flame under such dire circumstances, but it wasn’t as though they hadn’t had their moments before that. 

¬It had been after they’d captured Negan, during the tentative post-war days of truce, not yet prepared to trust that the new chain of command had taken hold in the Sanctuary. The infirmaries of both Hilltop and Alexandria were ransacked, burned, short on everything and overflowing with injuries, and even after raiding the Sanctuary’s supplies, it hadn’t been enough to pull everyone through the worst of their injuries. 

Emotions were raw. Everyone was exhausted, grieving, and still spending every waking hour trying to mend the walls, boil water, and tend to the injured. Rick had been unconscious for two days, running a fever. Daryl was clearly out of his mind with bottled-up restless panic, and Paul had a few ideas he’d been saving for when Hilltop had enough fuel and volunteers for proper long-distance runs. Once his symptoms began to present as tetanus and not _the_ fever, it was a matter of caloric intake, anti-inflammatory drugs and sheer will. Ken’s Pawn Plus Pharmacy had been a goldmine of calorie boosters, protein powders, supplements of varying dubiousness and good old Advil. 

Off the beaten path, crawling with walkers but practically untouched save for the guns and MREs, it was calculated luck that led them to their first swift success in months, and something about sharing it with the surly redneck had felt good. Daryl had even made off with a small supply of bolts (carbon fibre!) for his crossbow. Paul hadn’t realized just how chuffed he’d been about them until he found him perched on the bedside, showing them off to Rick when he returned to Alexandria a week later. The archer had been glued to his side in alternating shifts with Carl and Michonne, and with Rick awake again he was practically a different person, some scarce flame behind his eyes revived knowing his closest companion would pull through. 

Paul couldn’t help the strange mix of envy and pride. There was a stirring in his gut when Daryl’s shy eyes met his, giving the slightest jerk of his chin to direct Rick’s attention to the doorway. Rick groggily lauded their joint success, and Paul felt welcome enough to join them, sharing the morbid aftermath at Hilltop and asking about how Alexandria was faring.

He recalled the monumental relief he felt when Rick suggested they pair up more often, sparing him from having to come forward with the idea himself. Daryl hadn’t flared up over it initially, not with so many injured and the two of them mostly on the mend. It was an easy, natural fit, and Daryl had been restless to be outside the walls again. 

Even when his icy fingers had crept beneath Daryl’s coat the next morning, he hadn’t stopped him or pulled over; instead he shuddered and hollered empty threats into the wind while Paul laughed. It wasn’t until some of the feeling had returned to his hands that he’d noticed the man’s heart hammering in his throat, an accidental brush of his cheek against the ear that peeked out from dark tangled wisps revealing the redness was not from cold but heat.

Daryl’s first gift to him had been a new pair of gloves. Maybe a hint not to pull that stunt again, but proof that it had stuck out in the hunter’s mind. 

Playing the antagonist like it was funny to him kept him at a comfortable distance while simultaneously letting him closer than most. It hadn’t exactly been a game to him, simply the easiest way to cope with a tumultuous friendship that hovered hopefully on more, and now he couldn’t feel more fortunate. 

He gasped, at the sudden lurch of nearly drifting off and being snapped out of it, when Daryl pulled forward to butt out his cigarette in the dish on the sill.

There was a solemn quality to the way Daryl pulled him into the bed, wrapping Paul up in his arms. 

“When you comin’ back?” He rasped into the scout’s damp hair after drinking a deep sigh from it.

“Depends on how the repairs are going, but we still need all the salvage we can get. I have to see who we can spare to help Rick clear the highway, and then, hopefully,” he shrugged closer to Daryl with a bit of an excited shimmy, “it’ll be the two of us going back for that shop in the centre. A week, tops.”

“Gonna feel like forever.” 

He could feel Daryl gnawing his lip anxiously against the back of his head, but his heart warmed at the sentiment. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Daryl shifted and relaxed. 

Dry and tired eyes were swallowed up by darkness, cricketsong heralding the tide of dreams. 

 

________

 

Morning brought with it a stifling blanket of heat that poured through her windows and repelled the blankets from Maggie’s body. She’d been awake for hours, like most mornings, after too little nothingness, an adrenaline rush rousing her from frantic dreams. 

Back on the ranch, a basket of chicks, with a hole in the bottom. The rain made them wet, but wherever she sought shelter, walkers waited behind closed doors, too many of them familiar faces with clouded eyes and bloodied mouths. They lived in her dreams, but she was not entirely used to them yet. By the time she woke, the basket was empty, save for a few fragile, sodden hatchlings whose laboured panting grew weaker with every passing minute. Then she was alone, in a bustling airport, rivers of indistinct people herding her about, struggling to text Glenn while searching for her gate. She waited at the baggage carousel, trying to remember what she was expecting to see there. Her phone buzzed, with his response. 

A brief elation, quickly jarred by the wrongness of his there-ness shook her from her torpor, and she marvelled that so many tears still remained to be shed.

She pulled her clothes on over sticky limbs, made her way downstairs to the kitchens to grab a few bread rolls from the previous day, and then to Jesus’ black truck for the drive to Alexandria. She made the trip alone; she preferred it that way normally, but there was a possibility she’d be returning with more than just Paul, so she’d had an excuse to keep the seats empty. 

Biting pursed lips, she sped towards Alexandria at a steady pace, mildly eager to reclaim Jesus, one of the few people with whom she shared the responsibilities of keeping Hilltop supplied and safe. She felt lonely and out-of-place without him around, but she’d needed some isolation to process her grief, and kept her hands busy in the soil, nails still black underneath. 

Everyone had felt the loss of her companion, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at them much, not yet. Being around Rick and the others only made his absence more glaring; some of them still had each other, still had lives to laugh about, though they’d all grieved over their lost brother, none could know the depths of her sorrow. Even Tara had stoically bounced back from Denise, still cracking the odd joke and being a quiet companion, when needed, to anyone and everyone. Maggie felt an odd kinship in her, but was not ready to catch up to that, so she kept her distance. She felt as if she’d been reduced to half of her self, and it would take time to staunch the flow of her loss. 

He wouldn’t want her to feel this way. He’d want her to find the joy in life, to keep trying to build what they couldn’t yet. If she really tried to believe it, she still felt his presence; he would always be with her in memory. She still spoke to him, sometimes. Most of the time, it was all she could do to ignore the hollow ache and keep moving. The dirty kerchief in her pocket only mixed with the tears to leave muddy streaks on her face, and she laughed sadly, sniffed and swore as she cleaned up with her sleeve in the rear-view mirror, rolling through the opened gates. 

She caught her reflection in the truck’s door when she shut it. The baby was starting to show. 

 

________

 

The buzz of insects was gentler that morning and a dry wind rattled the leaves. The heat cast through the window by the sun was not as stifling as yesterday’s. An engine cut, a car door shut. Voices in the street; he recognized Rick’s first, then Carl’s, Maggie’s, and others. There were the groans and murmurs of hugs and greetings, and some high-pitched cooing; the fawn must have survived the night. Judith chirped and yelled. Daryl felt his heart lurch giddily into his throat, realizing the sleeping body of Paul Rovia was still pressed lightly to his side.

Stiffly, he rolled toward the younger man, who still dozed despite the sunlight cast over his face. Blankets kicked off the bed sometime in the night, their bodies fit together perfectly through the crumpled top sheet. If not for the deep inhale and Paul pressing back into his loose embrace, he would have believed him still asleep. Bronze lashes fluttered and opened, serenely taking in the swaying branches across the street. 

_It’s late. It’s time. We should dress._ We should eat. The words got tangled up in his throat and emerged as a tired, dry grunt. Paul laid his hand on the arm wrapped around his chest, and his stomach growled a response in his stead. Neither of them wanted to move, but a knock at the front door had them scrambling into pants immediately. 

“What time is it?! It can’t be noon already.” 

“Ain’t, but she’s here. I’ll get it.” Before Daryl could leave the room, Paul had grabbed his arm and pulled him back into an awkward kiss. Another knock, but Daryl waited.

“Gonna be a long week.” Daryl’s confused eyes caught his for a flickering, melancholy moment before darting away, nodding down at the heap of laundry surrounding the scout’s bag. 

“Get yer shit together. You’ll be back before ya’ know it.” His lips pulled tight in the slightest, sweetest curve of a smile, before he pulled away and lumbered downstairs to answer the door. 

 

Once the truck was loaded with Hilltop’s share of the haul, the Grimes had dragged Maggie, Daryl and Paul inside for breakfast. Rick’s smile had been all too forthcoming while Daryl shifted uncomfortably where he sat between Michonne and Carl, stealing glances at Paul, who was slightly better at holding down a conversation. 

Maggie made quick work of any queries into her health, redirecting their attention to how best to forge a better bond between their communities and rebuild after the monumental losses caused by the Saviors’ attacks. Most of the talk surrounded plans to demolish & salvage what they could of the burned-out homes and how they could make better use of the space with the materials they had gathered. 

There were several families in Hilltop who had been displaced in the war, cramped into temporary housing, and to ease the population burden Rick offered some of the remaining empty homes in Alexandria to be filled by any willing to participate in the highway project. Paul mused that his room could fit several people if he were to move, and while that hope fluttered oddly in his chest, Daryl tried to keep his poker face. Maggie didn’t seem too keen on the idea, even offering to share her space with him, and Daryl knew better than to suggest she move back while she felt Hilltop still needed her. Glenn had been buried there. 

Back in the street, hugs and pats were distributed, Daryl capturing Maggie in an especially smothering squeeze. Carl and Enid were packed into the back with the fawn’s cardboard cradle between them. Jesus took the wheel. Daryl bounced Judith in his arms, encouraging her to wave her tiny hand by gently shaking her arm as the gates closed between them. There was a burn in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow. 

 

________

 

They took an easy pace toward hilltop, sun in their eyes, a few fall leaves swirling in their wake.

“Normally they’re born in the spring. Merciful thing would be to put it down,” Maggie half-heartedly scolded the back-seat adolescents, Carl’s smug little face visible in the rear-view. She didn’t totally mean it, of course; she was relieved he would have the opportunity to do something nurturing after all the violence he’d survived.

“That’s exactly what he said,” Jesus interposed. 

“Who, Daryl?”

Jesus smiled. “Yeah. I found it, and I wouldn’t let him near it. He did say it ‘wasn’t worth eatin’ yet, anyways,’ but I think he wanted to show it to Carl and Judith too.” 

She smiled faintly at the mention of the toddler. “It’s going to be a nuisance, you know, and a waste of milk. And, it probably won’t survive the winter.” 

“I know. It’s on me,” he offered, before adding, quietly, “I just didn’t want him to have to do that.” 

She looked over, scrutinizing him quietly. “Did something happen?”

“Huh? No? Why?” He shifted his grip on the wheel, casual as could be. Enid snickered and Carl swiftly smacked her arm, avoiding Maggie’s quizzical stare in the mirror. Jesus pretended not to hear it, turning a shade darker. She caught the shift in hue, jaw dropping slightly.

“Just then! You went all soft, and now you’re turning pink. You’re sweet on him aren’t you?” She grinned, ribbing him.

“Hah. Caught me,” Jesus laughed nervously and swallowed, and Carl was tight-lipped, thankfully. Maggie rolled her eyes and dropped it, only because Carl was now cracking up at how red Enid had become trying to hold in the giggles. Word spreads fast in Alexandria, apparently. Only when the silence became unbearable did he realize he’d left his music in the truck.

 

_________

 

It had started with the drawer in the bedside table, the one he knew Paul had gone through. Daryl never really used nail clippers, being enough of a chronic nail biter already, and wondered if he owned any to start with. He quickly became conscious of the state of decay his home had reached. He’d never really thought about it before, or cared; homes these past few years had been temporary, disposable. He’d always been used to sifting through drawers of half-used napkins, empty cigarette cartons, spent lighters, old batteries, rubber bands and whatever else didn’t make it into the trash can. He unearthed a drawer organizer at the bottom of the mess, filled with stray tobacco, ash and dirt, but actually vaguely useful once he cleaned it out. 

After that, the bed sheets, the smoke-stained curtains, the neglected little pile of dirty laundry he re-used until someone made a comment about his odour, all of it suddenly struck him with a particularly neglected ambiance that might not appeal to Jesus. He hadn’t commented, or anything, far from it; he’d made himself right at home without as much as a sniff. Daryl felt no expectation to change, no shame, just a basic nesting instinct that both puzzled and disturbed him. If anything, though, the activity kept his mind off the slowly ticking time, and gave his hands something to sort while his thoughts on the whole situation percolated. 

Thankfully, Eugene was not home to witness his fixation. Once he’d realized there was no way Aaron would have missed a visit with Maggie, it clicked that he’d been gone since early morning on one of their factory tours, and that also meant there would be no escaping to Hilltop on his motorbike. He’d loaned him several parts to cast molds and make spares for the second bike he was putting together in Aaron’s garage. He hoped this would be a success; Eugene had no idea the bike would be for him, but given that his fascination with Daryl’s handiwork far outshone anyone else’s, he deserved it. He’d make a good mechanic, maybe even better than Daryl, if he tried. 

Two stuffed trash bags, two scrubbed washrooms, and a basket of clean clothes later, and he was marvelling at just how sore his feet had become, despite how easily he could trek through the woods from dawn ‘til dusk without really breaking a sweat. His ass was still a little sore from the previous night’s work out, too; going down the stairs that morning had been alarmingly difficult. 

He still desperately needed to vacuum, and huffed in amusement that he’d even considered it a need. Was there one in the house? Did anyone in Alexandria even own one? Rick must, his home was spotless. How was it only 6pm? He had a late morning shift on the wall, but it was still too early to sleep, and he wasn’t ready to sit still.

After hanging up damp clothes and clean sheets to dry out back, he fell onto his bare mattress, feet singing a song of agony. There was no denying that he was only desperate for distractions, but at this point he could no longer move. Maybe he’d run a bath, let the heat soak out some of the stiffness. Maybe then he’d be able to doze off. He regretted throwing the sheets in the wash; they had still smelled a little bit like Paul, and they probably wouldn’t be dry by nightfall. 

He fought the urge to sleep long enough to wash his hands and face. Once he hit the bed and closed his eyes, he could see it all again so vividly. Those seagreen eyes and pink lips he could almost taste, beard scratching his chin, the lithe body, hot and firm and hard and soft at once. He couldn't remember ever being so infatuated with any person. 

He couldn't remember ever feeling so eager to touch and hold someone. He had never grown so aroused at the sight of something so simple as a hand on his arm, breath against his ear, a tapering trail of body hair in the shadows, or the flash of his throat as he laughed. It used to annoy him, almost, Paul’s voice. He hadn’t felt the urge to pick up a phone and call someone since long before the world turned, but now he truly felt the loss that others lamented. Just to hear him breathe and be certain he was safe back at Hilltop would be indescribably soothing.

He touched himself lazily, still half-aroused from their fitful days and nights of rutting like love-starved animals. To top that off, he’d never slept so well in his life. The stark memory of Paul Rovia twisted and ached in his chest, almost like he'd already lost him. He'd felt this kind of worry before when friends returned late from runs. Too many lives had slipped through his hands, like some cruel joke, with each of them some intangible conclusion left dangling out of reach. If truly he were paying off some past-life debt by way of grief and suffering, it should tempt fate more than ever to ensure that he never saw that prick again. 

He'd hoped to reminisce on the better moments; instead, he was so anxious he could hardly breathe. Pulling his hand out of his pants, he rolled off the bed and stiffly moved to the chair by the window to roll a cigarette. He hadn't craved one all day, but now it might help to slow his racing heart. He slouched back after a long drag, the week ahead rolling out before his mind’s eye like a vast desert of worry and longing. 

 

________

 

A long to-do list of catching-up awaited Paul at Hilltop. He didn’t want to think of the residents as slackers, not by any stretch, and maybe it was simply his perfectionist streak, or because he hadn’t specifically asked anyone to do anything, but it seemed as though the weeds had only grown since his departure. The coop needed mucking, the hallways and stairs needed sweeping; all tasks that had fallen routinely to fallen companions lost in the vicious battle against the Saviors. He raked, shovelled and swept until his hands blistered and rogue wisps of hair clung to the sweat on his neck, and then he washed up in a cold bath hauled to his room bucket by bucket, and used the bathwater to scrub his clothes by hand.

He pulled the filthy clothes from his bag and dropped them into the cold suds. As he reached in to grab the last few stinky socks, his hand smacked into an unfamiliar surface; he lowered the bag to the ground, grasping the large, soft-cover book by the spine. Crossing the room, he sat on the bed, leaving the laundry to soak. It could sit there for days, really, and sometimes it did. 

_Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse: Psychotherapy for the Interrupted Life_

Daryl must have decided to loan it to him. It gave him a strange sense of relief to know he’d been forgiven for snooping; he hadn’t even meant to. Hadn’t meant to lie, either; he’d actually been looking for lube. Hadn’t even been sure the book was Daryl’s and not just some remnant of a former tenant. Apparently it was important enough to share, though. Was this related to some history that Daryl wished to reveal, or because he’d sensed that Paul’s curiosity was tied to aspects of his own upbringing? He had been surprised to find it amongst Daryl’s possessions. 

He had suspected the man had suffered enough trauma at some point, simply by his wary behaviour, quick impulsive temper and apparent hypervigilance. He’d even considered that he may have been that way before the world turned, based on his survival and combat skills. What had surprised him more was the fact that he owned a single book to begin with, and now he felt a little guilty for failing to give Daryl more credit where it was due. 

He packed a heap of pillows against the headboard, laid back, and opened up the pages. No note had been left inside, so he barrelled ahead blindly. 

It would be well into the night when he finished, after burning up most of the oil in his lamp. He found himself sleepless in the dark, with even more questions for Daryl, and a desperate longing to talk to him.

As for himself, he’d found some answers for which he hadn’t even known he was searching. It didn’t cure him of any insecurity, but it gave him a small vantage point from which to puzzle out his own perplexing bad habits. It had him questioning just how gracefully he had courted a seemingly damaged person.

Daryl hadn’t seemed totally ready, but he did make the first move. To be perfectly honest with himself, he hadn’t been totally ready for this either. It had been good, though, so good, and he knew the other man wanted him. Sensuality wasn’t new to him, and once Daryl had opened up physically he took to it like a fish that had just discovered water. In the context of the book, Daryl’s sensitivity made more sense than ever. He should have gotten to know him longer, should have spoken more, should have waited, he… shit. He would not let himself regret this. 

Maybe they had started this wrong. So what? Maybe they were both a little broken, just like the world around them, and there was no longer a right way to start things? Maybe they could fix it, though, help one another establish a secure base on which to rebuild. His heart swelled with hope; leaving Alexandria was a mistake. Leaving Daryl’s side was a mistake. Failing to share his feelings was a nagging regret. With a fresh determination to work out better living arrangements, and better understand the man he’d fallen for, he shut his eyes and willed himself to unburden his mind. 

Sleep had been elusive lately, but he had a powerful imagination, capable of pulling him back in time to Daryl’s side, and there he found it easier to rest. 

 

________

 

Michonne was not surprised to see Daryl on their doorstep the next morning, as he came by often. She was surprised when he stopped her from calling Rick down, pulling her into the hall because he’d ‘got a question’. Further alarmed that he was asking to borrow a vacuum, she was amused that he’d never noticed the large circular outlets she was certain every room in his Alexandria home possessed. 

“Central vac? The hell’s at?” 

“It’s one of those rich-people things. Why don’t I just show you?” 

She slipped on some sandals and led him back to his place. Dirt was visible through the trampled grass along the faint path that connected their adjacent doorways. After a bit of digging, she found him the hose and attachments, and showed him how to operate the unit he’d never really noticed in the furnace closet. She had Daryl demonstrate that he could turn it on and off before she left. Despite the ease of use, he seemed disgusted that such an overly convenient rich-person-thing had lurked for decades well beyond the scope of awareness. 

“Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll show you how to empty it.” 

“Yeah.” He led her to the door, not wanting to waste any more of her time. “Thanks, M’chonne.” 

She gave him a warm smile. “Any time, Daryl.” She turned away a little, and paused, turning back, “how are you doing, by the way?”

“Huh? ‘M fine.”

“You sure about that? I never vacuum unless I’m stressed out, and judging by your carpets this is your first time,” she smiled, her voice soothing even as she teased him.

He chewed his lip with a catty squint. “First time for everythin’, right? Next world an’ all. Maybe this one’ll be worth takin’ care of.” 

She narrowed her eyes and stepped back into the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb before he could shut her out. “You miss him, don’t you?”

He gave her a silent, scrutinizing stare, then looked at his feet with a little shrug, that could almost be interpreted as a ‘yes’. She patted his arm.

“Come by after your shift, we’ll save you some dinner. Rick has some plans to go over.”

Daryl nodded and gave her a shy wave as she backed out, then ducked back into his home. The vacuum screamed to life as she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh that was boring and sad and it had too many semicolons. It took FOREVER, thank you for commenting I almost gave up. The next chapter SHOULD be more fun so hopefully it won't take a whole mONTH DESUS WILL RISE


	6. Same as You

Paul woke, heart rushing, breath staggered. It took him a moment to wrench himself from the nightmarish battleground from which he'd just awoken. A strange rapping had entered his dreams in the form of gunfire, and carried into the waking realm. It continued to puzzle him for a moment as he regained his bearings; it almost sounded like a couple of toddlers scampering about in clogs on the hardwood floor above. It had once been Gregory's room, then Maggie's, and then converted to a hospice for some of the women from the Sanctuary. They had since dispersed to Alexandria and the Kingdom and he'd enjoyed relative silence up until this point. None had ever caused a ruckus like this. Then he remembered that was where they'd set Carl up with the fawn. 

The sky was a dim grey-blue, probably not even 5am, but there was no way he'd be sleeping after being startled into a panic. In a drained stupor, he began to wring out the clothes that he'd left in the washbasin. He then made his way down the stairs, through the kitchens and down the service steps in the back to hang them up to dry.

As a rule, the livestock in the Hilltop colony ate before the residents broke fast. It was Maggie’s rule, which none had disputed. After he fed and watered the chickens and released them to their run, he fed and milked the goats, setting aside a small bowl for Carl's young charge. Next the cattle and horses got their hay and some oats; thankfully abandoned bales were easy to come by, but of decreasing quality. Next spring they'd have to think about mowing fields or establishing a range for grazing. They needed sorghum, canola, and hemp as well, and did not have the space for that within the walls. 

A young freckled girl with big brown eyes showed up and nudged his shoulder with an offer to take over for him, just as he had settled on a stool to milk the first cow. Sadie was a new find, and shy was an understatement; she was practically mute, and spent most of her time bonding with the animals. He almost felt bad for taking her work without asking, and left her to the rest of it with a gentle smile. 

He made his way up to the top floor after leaving the goat's milk and eggs in the kitchen, and just about crashed into Carl as he left his room. The boy, if he could still call him that, was a full head taller than him, and almost seemed annoyed when Paul offered him the bottle already filled with milk. 

"I told you, I'd take care of it. You didn't have to," he mumbled dourly. 

"Of course not, but I was already up. You're welcome," he shrugged, palms skyward, and returned to the stairs. 

"Thanks," the mop-headed beanpole said to his back. 

 

After a few sweaty hours of breaking new dirt, he found himself increasingly frustrated and redundant. It hadn't even been essential work, just an extra square of land where they could spread some chicken muck and possibly plant more crops next year. It was something to keep his hands busy while his mind wandered. 

This living situation was not going to work. He needed to talk to Daryl. He thought about how fast it would be to ride there and suddenly found himself missing his horse more than ever. Over brunch, he'd tried to convince Maggie that they ought to head back to Alexandria sooner, that he'd be more use to them helping with the road work, that they needed Hilltop volunteers pitching in if they wanted a pick of the vehicles they planned to salvage. She listened, and agreed, but made no movements about going there without spending the morrow interviewing and making sure no one's construction schedules were interrupted. 

If she sensed his urgency, she remained tight-lipped about it. He hadn't intended to deceive her, he just didn't know how to tell someone, a good friend who'd just lost the love of her life, that he'd found his. 

Still, she didn't need him here. Now with Carl and Enid looking for chores, and the entire radius surrounding Hilltop that could be reached on foot picked clean, gas too precious to waste on his usual scavenging trips, he felt like there was nothing for him to do. They had an overabundance of weapons after the war, so even his defence skills were relatively obsolete within the community. He had read just about every book, twice, and while he fancied a third go on some, there were matters of the heart to contend with, and time was too precious a commodity to waste. If people were venturing outside the walls, that was where he could do his part; if Daryl was going out on runs, he needed to be there by his side. 

He folded his clothes into stacks on his bed, and then shook the dust out of his bag, dead leaves and dirt adding to the grime layered over the ornate rug of his bedroom floor. He placed Daryl's book at the bottom with a few of his own favourites and packed in half of his wardrobe. Then he tidied up, putting his notes and maps away in drawers, so that his room would be available to any guests who might arrive. Maybe Enid would prefer it to the back of the old econoline on cinder blocks in which she claimed she'd feel most comfortable. It wasn’t bad, with the air mattress; he’d slept there himself to get away from the sound of the bed above him squeaking rhythmically several times, but he still thought it a bit cold and spidery. 

After gearing up, he left the house in search of Maggie. It wouldn't be easy, but Daryl _had_ given him permission to tell her.

 

________

 

Daryl's shift on the west overlook was endless and routinely uneventful. Opposite side of Alexandria from the main gates, overlooking the walled-off stretch of road that led toward a residential un-dead war-zone, he had nothing to do but gaze, smoke and let his mind wander while waiting for anything that might move: survivors, walkers, or if luck would have it, a buck. Normally this gate wasn’t watched; hell, it barely even opened, just enough for someone to squeeze through, but after the war they had stepped up security along with their search for survivors. A small group had been spotted by Eric once, but a violent storm had covered their tracks.

Today was crisp, cool and sunny, nothing moved save for the steady dropping of leaves. Some thoughts about Jesus gave him a bit of a situation; others only left an anxious buzz in his gut. At times he was all too aware that no one else could see exactly what he was up to in the corrugated steel crow’s nest and the temptation to relieve a little pressure was all too real, only superseded by the slim chance of being caught with his hand in his pants. God damn though, just thinking about his lips... he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them.

Instead, he made a game of attempting to down walkers as they crossed the path he used for hunting, now that he had a surplus of bolts to risk losing. There was a stillness to the day that made the shift more restless than usual. It was as though the vast wilderness of suburban ruins knew he was watching, and kept its denizens hidden. 

Surprisingly, Aaron came by to relieve him of his duty not long into the last agonizing hour of his watch. Apparently he and Eric had returned, leaving Eugene to his production work with one of the Saviors’ refugees. As wary as Daryl felt leaving Eugene alone with one of Negan’s former boys, he trusted Aaron’s judgement in the matter. 

He appreciated that they’d come straight back as soon as the bike parts had been cast, just so that he could reassemble his motorcycle and regain some sense of freedom. Aaron had always been sensitive to his claustrophobic feelings about being in town; the bike had been the best gift anyone could have given him. It had actually made him feel cared-for and appreciated when he'd been feeling out of place and forgotten. 

“Eugene tells me you’ve had a guest,” Aaron offhandedly prompted as he set himself up for the night watch. A folding festival chair, a large thermos of coffee, a candle and a journal set next to him on a large overturned bucket. When he looked up, Daryl was watching him with narrowed eyes.

He felt the heat rise in his face, not sure exactly why he felt betrayed. “Did he have a problem with it? Or y’all just got nothin’ better to talk about than shit that ain’t yer business?” He immediately regretted speaking so harshly to his friend, and hurriedly gathered his things. 

Aaron raised his palms with a bewildered smirk, “No problem at all, only mentioned it when we asked if you were coming along.” 

"Right." Obviously. He'd forgotten that Eugene had invited him. Daryl hung his head and nodded with a puff of a laugh, absently drilling his pocket knife’s point into a fingertip. He realized his surly overreaction had basically spelled it out to the man, and felt a little mad at himself. Paul was good to him. He didn't deserve to be kept a secret. Aaron was a friend, and deserved honesty. 

Aaron sighed and settled himself back in his chair, rifle laid across his lap, quirking a brow at the surly archer. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Daryl, but it’s not like there’s anyone who hasn’t figured it out. There’s no reason for you to get all defensive, and I mean that as kindly as possible. Every one of us is happy for you.”

Daryl swayed on his feet, adjusting the crossbow on his shoulder, not sure what to make of the sentiment. "Yeah, 'msorry. Just don't like havin' people talk about me, yknow? I'm happy too," he blurted the last bit, but the admission still made him feel some relief. He sighed, rubbing his stiff neck and not really knowing what else to say, so he just nodded and tried to give him a quirk of a smile. He snapped the blade shut and pocketed his knife as he made his way to the ladder, trying to avoid looking at Aaron's big dumb face beaming at him. 

"Goodnight, Daryl."

"Night. I, uh," he stopped after a moment before disappearing completely, "I'll be 'round the path to check the traps, so if you see anythin' make sure it ain't me yer shootin'."

Aaron nodded, eyes smiling warmly on the hunter. "Got you covered."

 

Daryl reclaimed his arrows and dragged the corpses into a pile off the path on his quick run of the snares, hastened by the fading light and the eerie quiet of the woods at dusk. A dry wind had blown a chill over the town, and the silence put him on edge. He wondered when the first frost would hit, and for the first time in almost a year he wished he'd worn sleeves. The stillness pressed in on him, almost like he was being watched, and he felt the skin pricking on the back of his neck.

By the time he was at Rick's door it was dark. He tossed the string of rabbits onto the lawn before knocking off his boots on the porch steps and, after catching a whiff, peeling off and stuffing his smelly socks inside of them. He could hear chatter and laughter inside, and stared at his bare feet for a moment as he hesitated to let himself in, listening for voices he recognized. Tara, Rosita, Gabriel, he heard a tin lid being screwed off a bottle and the clinking of glasses. He thought he heard Paul and his heart leapt into his throat a moment before he realized it was Eric. Absently combing his hand through his hair, he found a leaf tangled in it. 

Staring at the cracked dry leaf in his palm, he thought of what Aaron had said, about everyone knowing. His lips were salty with dried sweat, and his heart was pounding. The dirt on his body began to itch, the last thing he wanted right now was to be seen. Everyone would probably be drunk and uninhibited with their prying, what with the kids out of town and Asskicker in bed. A wave of laughter rippled from inside and a dizzying heat spread from the back of his neck through his face and down his chest. Removing his hand from the latch, he stepped away, grabbed his boots and game and went home. Whatever plans they made, Rick could brief him later.

 

Daryl wondered if he'd stepped into the wrong house; he'd forgotten about all the cleaning he'd done. He left his boots on the mat and tossed his socks in the hamper in the little laundry closet. He made quick work of the rabbits in the back, put them away and then padded up to his room. 

Even his bedroom smelled clean and cold, after leaving the windows and doors wide open all day so the breeze could get through. There was a hint of ash-tray but it was no longer smothering; his curtains were white again, not the dusty off-white he'd assumed to be their original state. 

In the shower, he rinsed off quickly, focusing his attention on the bloodied arms and sweaty armpits, giving his pubes a good lather as well. Used to be he could go weeks without really washing up, not that he’d had many options, but when Paul and he got closer it'd somehow become a daily thing, and now he could feel the filth on his skin, no longer one with it. 

There was so much he'd been accustomed to, never understood the need to change, but now that he had, he wasn't so much missing the old ways. Cleaning hadn't been as exhausting as he always thought it would be. It really wasn't such a hassle at all, in fact it felt good to take care of his place, his body; he'd just resisted it because he didn't want anyone smugly thinking he'd listened to them. His family had finally given up with the nagging, and Jesus hadn't once asked him to change a thing. It finally felt right, because it was his decision. It even felt good to run a comb through his hair; for how straight it was, there were some frightfully devious knots. 

Some part of him mourned the grime and the tangles he'd washed down the drain. He'd worn that patina like a medal after all they'd been through. The filth was a barrier, a mask, and if he ever missed it, there would always be more. Another part of him still dreaded having to go back to that life, having to see his family go back to that. He hadn't wanted to grow accustomed to the convenience and safety of a communal life, for losing it would be so much worse if he did. Now he felt an attachment he never had before. He'd never had so much to lose, and it gave him an odd feeling of vertigo. He dressed in clean clothes and, feeling refreshed and anxious, headed out into the dusk. 

 

________

 

Turns out Paul didn't have to worry about Maggie stopping him from taking off a few days before their scheduled Alexandria visit. She looked about ready to hit him for not saying anything sooner, and after a ten-minute agitated shovel talk, sent him packing. No car, no horse. _The walk will give you time to think on what you've done._ She knew he could handle himself, and they were dangerously low on gas. The crushing hug she'd given him told him he was forgiven, though.

She shook her head, arms crossed, mouth pulling every which way, eyes glistening as the gates closed between them. 

_Take care of him, Paul. God knows we've all tried._

He held it together with good humour and hadn't broken down until he was down the road, well around the bend. 

He couldn't have picked a better night for a marathon-length walk, or a better place to cry it out under the cold stars. The chill was manna from heaven; no mosquitoes or gnats harassed him and he could taste the faintest hint of fermenting leaves in the air. The sky was already a wild spread of tangerine hues and shadowy clouds when most of Hilltop was just sitting down for dinner. The cooler nights had already slowed the walkers, and he was able to keep to a brisk pace without breaking a sweat. 

 

________

 

In Aaron & Eric's garage, the borrowed parts were laid out on a handkerchief. A fine white residue of plaster clung in the crevices of some of them, and he settled himself belly-up on the concrete next to his bike, polishing and putting everything back in place. 

The garage door rattling upward startled the living shit out of him, and when he saw Rick Grimes standing there his heart caught in his throat. He’d felt more than awful about skipping Rick’s invite. He knew it was out of character for him to do so as of late, but even with the knowledge that it might hurt his brother, he just couldn’t do it tonight. 

The hurt on his face was obvious, though Rick tried to act casual. Daryl scrunched upright to look at him, anticipating questions to which he didn’t have answers. Instead, a heavy black binder was tossed onto the concrete pad floor before him.

"We're dealing with the semi tomorrow, and we'll need the Hilltop volunteers by Friday, if they want their pick of the vehicles. Think you can run that over to Maggie now that your bike's back in commission?" 

Daryl lifted the package into his lap then squinted up at Rick. “Yeah? You won’ need me tmorrow?”

“I was planning on sending Eugene as a runner once he got back, but he still needs some equipment before he’ll be ready to start work on their solar cells, so it wouldn’t be savin’ us a trip. Figured you wouldn’t mind goin’ in his stead, we could use his help getting that thing upright.”

“I can check your traps tomorrow, if you feel like going tonight.” Tara chimed in from the darkened street. She wandered in an leaned against his workbench with a smug and rosy-cheeked smirk, bare goose-fleshed arms crossed against her chest.

Daryl looked from Rick to Tara, openly astonished, before hoisting himself onto his feet with a hand on his knee. He smoothed the dust off the black canvas disc caddy, staring down at it. "Yeah. I’d like that. Sorry I didn’t come by."

Rick’s face softened at the admission, knowing Daryl hadn’t just forgotten him. "You missed a good time; saved you some perogies if you're hungry."

Daryl’s mouth flickered sweetly. "Nice. Thanks.” He tossed the binder down on the workbench and pulled out his rag. 

Tara studied him, tongue in cheek, and smirked. “You were planning on going anyways, weren’t you?”

“Once I’m sure she’s running well, yeah.” He kept busy, eyes ducking her all-knowing grin. He liked Tara a lot, but she got on his nerves sometimes, she was like Paul; always picking and prodding. As much as it bugged him, he was grateful for it. 

Rick toed at some filings on the concrete pad. “It’s already dark, you sure you’ll be safe out there?” 

Daryl shrugged. “It’s not even an hour. I’ll drop by first, ‘n then I think I'll take off." He patted the bike’s seat, reaching over it with a wrench to tighten some nuts. 

Rick nodded, "alright. I’ll see you in a bit." Tara nudged Rick and took her leave, in a hurry to get out of the chill. Rick made to follow, but turned back to Daryl for a beat. "I’d be doin’ the same, you know."

"That so?" Daryl kept his eyes on his hands, going over his bike with a clean rag for a final once-over. 

"Don’t know why you didn’t go with him in the first place." He watched Daryl gather up his tools and rags.

The archer shrugged, sharp eyes flickering up to Rick’s as he started wiping off his fingers with the sham. “Needed to know you were alright with it, I guess. Family first, right?” 

“Right,” Rick gaped a moment at the innocence in Daryl’s eyes before the shaggy hunter looked away again. “He’s family too now, you know.” 

Daryl straightened, eyes clear and blue on the sheriff’s for a beat. He nodded awkwardly, mouth twisting with uncertainty, and began putting his tools away and closing up shop. 

Rick sensed that he was dealing with a lot of feelings, and took his leave.

 

________

 

Jesus was possibly lost? He’d followed the clearing below the relics of transmission towers to the trail that he sometimes used cut through the woods around a dangerous intersection. 

He had crossed one road, curved right again and should have reconnected with the highway to Alexandria by now, but the trail had disappeared along with the underbrush that had defined its edges, and it had been a few months since he’d come this way on foot. Freshly fallen leaves were obscuring any footpath that may have remained. Barely any of the crescent moon’s light filtered through the trees, and his flashlight only made it harder for his eyes to pick up the shapes in the darkness. It would also draw more walkers, and every time he used it he had to wait and listen after switching it off. 

He felt himself beginning to panic the more the terrain began to dip, so he stopped to focus on his breathing and will his heart to slow, to quiet the blood rushing in his ears. His eyes slowly readjusted after pocketing the mag-lite. It was vaguely lighter to his right, but he was sure he’d just about turned himself around. He headed that way anyways, praying for road.

A few minutes later, after he crossed a narrow, squishy streambed and levelled out again, he breathed a sigh of relief. He knew where he was now, and had overshot the trail to the road by a good half-mile. Just as a faint slice of pavement came into view, he heard the distant hum of a motor and stopped to listen. He crept toward the road, keeping low and out of sight. Way up the road, a single headlight crested a rise. As the sound grew clearer, he decided it had to be a motorcycle, and it was coming from Alexandria’s direction. It couldn’t be? It had to be. It sounded just like Daryl’s bike; if it wasn’t him, someone had stolen it again, right? Reason enough to let himself be spotted. The silhouette was growing clear and he could see the outline of a crossbow strapped in the back. Heart in his throat, he stepped up to the curb and flashed his torch at the wheels of the oncoming vehicle, careful not to blind the rider. 

The lone biker slowed and stopped several yards from where he stood. Jesus shielded his eyes from the headlight, and the voice was unmistakably Daryl’s when it rose over the loud purr of the motor. 

“Paul? The hell you doin’ out here?” The hunter switched the bike off and scrambled to dismount. He stepped forward, his arms hanging uncertain at his sides.

“I could ask you the same question,” he studied Daryl’s face under the bluish starlight. 

Daryl stepped to him in disbelief, and wrapped him up in a crushing hug, an exalted sob fluttering out of him. He pushed Paul to arm’s length to check him over, brushing his hair off his face with a distracted hand. “You ok? What’s going on?”

Paul took Daryl’s hands in his, “I’m fine, Daryl. Did something happen? Why are you out here, what’s going on?”

“No, nothin’, I just- why you headed this way? Is Maggie- did something-”

Paul pet his chest, trying to soothe the confused panic that clearly had Daryl shaken. “No, no! Everything’s fine,” A relieved laugh escaped him, as the hunter’s face transformed from confused to a different kind of confused. “Nothing’s happened, Daryl, I just came to see you.”

Daryl was silent a moment as he processed that, then snorted, a genuine breathy laugh escaping his tight smile. “No shit. Good thing ya’ caught me.”

“Still, what are you doing out this late?” He tucked a strand of hand out of Daryl’s eyes.

He fidgeted. “Missed ya’.”

“Are you really telling me you had no other reason to take off for Hilltop? Alone, after dark? Does Rick know you’ve snuck out?” Delicate gloved hands smoothed up his chest and neck and interlaced at the back of his head. 

“None that couldn’a waited ‘til tomorrow. And yeah, they know.” He cupped the scout’s jaw, and leaned down into a wary kiss. 

Paul inhaled deep and slow, savouring the hunter’s warm lips against his, melting closer. _They know._ He held the hunter’s face close when the kiss broke, voice barely above a whisper. “So. Your place or mine?”

Daryl scarcely rubbed Paul’s nose with his, “yours is nicer.”

Paul’s cheeks were already sore from smiling. “You think? I was really missing that quiet little rooftop of yours.”

Daryl’s ears warmed, remembering their first night together, holding him close. “Maybe when you learn ta’ keep quiet.” 

Paul snorted, “the walls of House Barrington are just as thin. I know another place…” 

Daryl caught the glint in his eye and, spellbound, he nodded. 

 

Squeezed between their packs and Daryl’s firm back, with a powerful bike rumbling beneath them, his hands no longer shied away from the archer’s soft belly. His hands were warm, at home beneath his vest, breath hot on Daryl’s ear as he gave directions over the roar of the wind. Right once, then right again, to a standalone homestead tucked away in the trees along the highway south. The second floor was a blackened skeleton, burned down to the support beams, the main a ruinous maze of trash and graffiti. The only hint of use was a blackened malodorous heap at the far end of the overgrown yard, where he imagined someone had been disposing of walkers that encroached on the site. 

The basement door in the rear required some expert shimmying to enter, but from the inside he was able to bar it with a 2x4, steel brackets bolted securely into the concrete. He fumbled along the wall, flashlight still wedged between his lips, until he found the small switch hanging from a cord, and with a click, a string of plastic milk jugs illuminated the room. Some were white, some yellow, and together they cast a neutral glow throughout the space. 

“LEDs. Two double-A’s will keep this place lit for weeks, and I’ve got rechargeables,” he boasted with a satisfied sigh. Admiring his little den, he pulled off his beanie and coat, hanging them on one of the empty hooks in the cinder-block entryway. With a broad gesture, he welcomed Daryl, offering to take his backpack from him. 

Daryl shrugged it off while his eyes darted around the space. An unfinished ceiling glinted in the eerie light, plastic sheets taut over pink fibreglass, and the walls had lines of black screws still visible in the drywall sheets fastened to the studs. Paul pulled a bench out from beneath an old Hammond organ and propped Daryl’s bag up on it. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled a towel off a mixing board and other audio equipment. 

“It’s not much, but it’s secure; the windows are blacked out, so no one can see or hear anything from the road. I put in the insulation and drywall long after this place was looted and burned to the ground; we were able to stash a lot out of the Saviors’ sight with places like this. I know you’ve got a few of your own surrounding Alexandria.”

“Oh yeah? You the rats that stole all our applesauce?” Daryl smirked, gnawing his thumb a little. 

Paul raised his eyebrows and shrugged innocently. “It was unguarded. We only took half, as a courtesy. You should be glad it wasn’t the Saviors who found your storehouse.”

Daryl grunted and waved him off, stepping into the space. He couldn’t honestly blame anyone for their behaviour while living under Negan’s iron fist. At the end of the room to his left, a thick layer of books was packed solid into a wall of shelving. Between that wall and the entryway stretched an olive green mid-century sleeper sofa, old sleeping bags and sheets folded at one end, and a coffee table with a dirty ash tray at the center. The glass dish was rimmed with half-smoked joints and overflowing with pencil shavings. Naïve sketches of trees, mountains and maps littered the table’s surface.

The smell of stale roaches, books and graphite was giving Daryl a bit of a rush. He could hardly believe all of this belonged to the scout he accompanied, right down to the utilitarian aesthetic. It reminded him of the garages, dens and hideaways Merle’s friends had inhabited over a decade ago, and had a solid, crude, comforting feel to it. The shelves that divided the living space from the rest of the basement were packed with boxes: wholesale shipments of dried goods, judging by the labelling, and dusty jars of fruit and vegetable preserves. A small table to his right had a hot plate and an electric kettle, beneath it a crate of car batteries wired to a converter alongside flats of bottled water. 

It made sense, though, to hide it all away from the residents of Hilltop; Negan had helped himself to their belongings, and while Paul had busted ass to supply them with enough to provide a satisfactory cut, Negan could never have known how skilful Jesus was until his capture. 

Paul had been stood facing the small stereo that sat atop the organ, picking through empty jewel cases for a few moments before Daryl got his bearings and cleared his throat.

“Look in my bag.”

His voice drew Paul’s attention, turning his whole body to look at the hunter while he dug into the bag and pulled out his collection. He looked down at it with a small, appreciative smile plastered on his face, immediately flipping to the middle and slipping a disc from its sleeve. 

“You don’t wear those wings for nothing.” He fed it into the stereo and, for the first time in what felt like forever, cranked the volume just past the “min” mark on the dial. 

It was familiar, but Daryl couldn’t name it. It put him on edge, not being able to listen for enemies, but that did little to distract from the masculine beauty approaching him with bedroom eyes. He swallowed, tongue thick and heavy as the scout approached, then passed him, fingertips lightly grazing his arm. 

Paul sat on the couch behind Daryl and motioned for him to take a seat, pulling a coffee tin from beneath the coffee table and popping it open to pull out some rolling papers, pot and a pack of Morleys. With the lid as a tray in his lap, he pinched an inch off the tip of a cigarette and offered the rest to Daryl. 

Daryl sat next to him and took it, lighting up and watching Jesus roll one of the most perfect joints he’d ever seen.

“Do you smoke..?” He gestured with the joint. 

Daryl shook his head, and let out the long drag. “Nah, not for a long time; started makin’ me nervous.” He shrugged.

He rolled it between his fingers in thought. “Oh. Huh. Nevermind, then.” He dropped it back into the tin with the baggies and stale smokes, and stowed it. 

Daryl looked him over, furrowed. “I don’ mind if you spark up, man. Go for it.” 

Paul sidled up against him and got comfortable, resting his head on the hunter’s shoulder and plucking the cigarette from his hand to help himself to a puff. “Nah. I was just trying to be a good host. I’d rather stay here with you,” he choked out, returning the cigarette to Daryl. He gasped and coughed a little into his sleeve.

He patted Paul’s back fondly and crushed the stale smoke into the ash tray. “Thanks. Kind of ya’,” he snorted when he saw Paul’s eyes watering and sank back into the couch.

Paul melted into his side, slipping his palm against Daryl’s, interlocking their fingers. They sat together that way, listening to the quiet music, and it was good. He noticed his thumb was gently petting a mess of scar tissue on the back of Daryl’s hand, and stopped moving it. 

Daryl turned his face and kissed the crown of his head.

He smiled sadly. “I read it.”

Daryl stiffened without meaning to, and glanced sidelong at him.

“Why’d you give it to me?”

Daryl shrugged and thought about his answer, untangling his hand from Paul’s so his fingers could pick at each other. “Was done with it. Felt bad when I saw your face, too, thinkin’ you’d done somethin’ wrong. Books are for sharing, an’ all, an’ it wasn’t just about me. Lot o’ people need help now, to learn how to be people again.” He glanced over.

Paul chewed a lip, cautiously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, staring at the opposite wall. “Can I ask you who hurt you?”

The hunter’s dark eyes fixed steady on him. “My pa,” he cleared his throat, “brother too, in a different sorta’ way.”

Paul watched his face, waiting for him to elaborate until he realized that was all he was going to get. It was enough, a start, and he cupped the hunter’s opposite cheek to press a chaste kiss into the side of his jaw. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s alright, I know.” Daryl breathed a long sigh, stretching his long legs out and resting his feet on the table, careful of the drawings. He pulled Paul against his chest, arms around the smaller man’s. “You learn anythin’? I could barely make sense of half of it.”

“Mmhm.” Paul shimmied his shoulders and settled against his broad chest, tucking his head back under Daryl’s chin. “My mom was a hypercritical micromanaging witch, and I blamed myself for their divorce when really I know my father did it as much for himself as he did me, and that’s why I always try to smooth things over between people and hate myself,” he let out a brief, stressed laugh, shoulders tense. 

Daryl blinked, lips pressed against his hair. He gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Shouldn’t hate yourself, you’re great.” 

Paul put his hand on Daryl’s. “I know,” he breathed. “Thank you,” he added, quietly.

He was more than great. No one that Daryl knew could have done what Jesus had done to find Negan’s compound, negotiate his rescue, and then take Negan on directly. He owed the man his life, but that certainly wasn’t why he wanted to devote it to him. 

“I lied to you,” Paul said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Oh?” His heart leapt into his throat at those words. 

“About Alex. There were a lot of reasons we didn’t work out, but those were all just excuses. None of them would really make a difference to me now. I didn’t love him. I thought I did, but we were always at odds. And then I met you.”

Daryl’s hand stopped moving where it had been tracing up and down the length of Paul’s forearm. He breathed in the scent of Paul’s hair, hugging him a little tighter, pulling him a little closer. “Hmm. Shit.” 

Paul turned his head towards him slightly, messing his hair against his shirt. “What?”

“So are you a top or not?”

Paul barked a mad laugh and elbowed the hunter. “Stop it,” he slouched until he was laying with his feet on the armrest, smirking up at Daryl from his lap. 

“You stop it, goin’ all soft on me an’ shit.” Daryl combed his hair with his fingers, narrowed eyes gazing tenderly at the creature lying across his legs. 

He shut his eyes, the sensation on his scalp heavenly. “The whole top-bottom thing is moot. I like everything with you.”

“How d’you figure? We ain’t done everythin’ yet, have we?”

“Oh, Daryl,” mischievous green eyes locked on his. “Did you have something in mind?” His hand came up to poke a finger between the buttons on Daryl’s shirt, making him flinch a bit. Paul smiled and toyed with the sparse unruly hairs beneath his navel. 

Daryl fought off a smirk. He felt his face heat up before he removed the scout’s hand with a startled yank. “Not that. No ticklin’,” he bent down to kiss him, laying a broad, calloused hand over his chest.

With a quiet inhale, Paul leaned up into the kiss to return it before sitting up. “What, then?” He sat facing the archer and began to unbutton his shirt, a smug look awaiting his answer. 

“Don’t know,” he replied shyly, watching him disrobe from beneath a curtain of dark hair. “I liked everythin’ too.” His body responded to the sight of his lover’s bare chest, he felt his face heat up when Paul came for his shirt and more tender kisses. 

Leaning over the hunter and plucking his shirt open, Paul’s lips stepped along his sparsely bearded cheek to his ear. “Lay on your stomach,” he instructed Daryl in an eager whisper.

He immediately stiffened at the thought, staying Paul’s hands. “Why.”

Paul raised his eyebrows, pulling his hands away gently. Deft, warm fingers smoothed up his shirt to his shoulders and began to knead, the corners of his mouth curling just barely. “Have you ever had a massage?”

Slowly, he shook his head, still casting a warning glare. A pleasant cascade of tingles dispersed from his dense trapezius muscles as Paul kneaded to the core, and a shuddering exhale escaped. 

“I’ll be gentle.” He whispered through a kiss against the hunter’s cheek. 

He ducked away from it, pushing him back gently. “It’s not that, it’s just…” he swallowed harshly, downcast and feeling sick, as though he was already watching their romance die in his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Paul’s expression grew concerned, gingerly removing himself from Daryl’s lap.

“Nothin’,” Daryl stood, avoiding his eyes as he shucked his vest and shirt. “Just an ugly mess back there.” He carefully sat again with his back to Paul, one leg folded under the other. As the uncomfortable silence spread between them, he felt his throat tighten, hugging his shirt to his chest for warmth, his back cold and exposed. 

Even in the dim light, the dark marring criss-crossing his back was stark against his sun-starved skin. Paul felt a little dazed by the extent of it; the varied angles and shades represented a series of sickening events. He wasn’t surprised to learn that Daryl had been hiding something like this. He’d already known that the man had suffered more than he deserved; the scars only served to fill a gap in the puzzle that was Daryl Dixon. His interest was captured by the winged figure chasing another up his back, inked into his skin, this one a mark the hunter had chosen for himself.

“You don’t gotta touch it,” he mumbled, fumbling to untangle his shirt, leaning away.

“Stop. Daryl.” Paul grasped his arms and stayed his flight, sitting him back down and scooting closer. 

“It’s not ugly. You’re beautiful, every part of you,” he breathed.

Daryl was shocked still by the sentiment. His eyes felt hot, welling with tears until he felt the warmth of a hand ghosting over his tattoo. He let out the breath he was holding, breathing deep and slow, trying to sort the mixed feelings of disgust and vulnerability and hope roiling inside him. Delicate fingers combed his hair and parted it over his shoulders to expose his neck, and he heard the click of a bottle and the sound of hands rubbing together wetly. 

Paul smoothed the oil over his shoulders, deciding he would start at the top and see how far he could go with it. There was a broad expanse of meat to knead along his neck and shoulders alone, and the high-strung man was predictably riddled with knots. Slowly and surely the hunter’s breathing steadied, relaxing into little sighs and grunts which helped him hunt down the areas that craved attention. By the time his thumbs were working neat little symmetrical circles up his neck to the base of his skull, all resistance had been dispelled. 

“Feels good,” he grumbled as he hung his head to stretch out the muscle and let Paul’s hands work deeper, tingles washing over his scalp and rippling down his back. 

“Think I can do the rest?” 

Daryl glanced back over his shoulders, with an uneasy expression. 

Paul reached for the pile behind him, handing him the biggest pillow. “Lay on this. No funny stuff, I promise. Unless you want it, of course…” the last line was delivered low and husky, directly into his ear, raising the hairs on his arms and eliciting a snort.

“If you think you’ll be takin’ me ass-up like a bitch, yer mistaken,” Daryl huffed, hugging the pillow to his chest and stretching out across the couch. He was mostly joking; wasn’t sure there was a single thing he wouldn’t do for the scout, but the thought of that was honestly a little too humiliating. 

“Shame, it’s such a fine ass,” he mused as he settled his right on top of it, knees flanking the hunter as he dribbled more oil all over his back and got to work.

“Shup,” Daryl groaned, and hid his face in the cushion. Soon he was moaning and gasping as each stroke and dig of Paul’s palms sent an electric rush through his nervous system. He’d only had a brief shoulder massage from Carol now and then, and it was good, but even then he could never have imagined it would feel this good. Tight aches he’d never been without in his life were dissipating and in their absence he felt his body turning to jelly, his lungs even felt freer and more open within their cage. 

He worked slowly and carefully, starting light before moving deeper, impressed by the thick, strong build of the archer. The subtle asymmetry spoke of a lifetime bearing an uneven load, unsurprising given the weight of his weapon of choice, and he hunted each knot with precision, until he felt more like flesh and less like a solid gnarl of bone. Once his whole back was rosy and shiny, Paul began to press down carefully on either side of his spine. “Now exhale, slowly.” 

Daryl obeyed and felt him push down carefully, and a series of satisfying pops along his spine caused a groan. “Oh my god,” he whimpered, muffled by the pillow, while Paul soothed his spine with long gentle drags of his knuckles. 

Paul smiled, leaning down to pepper the back of his neck and shoulder with kisses, still smoothing his hands over his broad back with a contented hum. Before getting himself too worked up he stood, gently smacking Daryl’s bottom. “Up. Help me make the bed.” 

Daryl had to be wrestled off the sofa before insisting on stepping out back. Under the quiet starlight, the woods were still. Piss steamed and breath billowed toward the brilliant slice of galaxy above. 

 

Once the sofa was dismembered and the collapsible bed made up, Paul used a match to light several small tea lights in jars, and powered off the lights and music. Once he’d kicked off his boots and socks and clambered under the cold covers, the hunter was already shivering beneath them and desperately dragging him closer. He couldn’t help a little shudder himself. It was getting damn cold, and might even freeze soon. 

“How do you heat this place?” Daryl had buried his face against the scout’s cheek to warm his nose. 

“The candles are all I’ve got; I only started using this place in the spring. We should probably get the canned stuff over to Hilltop before it freezes.” He wiggled closer, and gasped when Daryl crammed his chilly hands down the back of his pants.

“Uhhuh. _We_ should, should we?” Daryl pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’d get your share, I’ll even throw in some canned peaches for the gas you’re going to give me,” He smirked, luring the hunter’s lips in for another smooch.

“Fair ‘nough,” the hunter murmured, his arms roping Paul closer, rolling onto his back, pulling the smaller man on top of him with ease. “How’re you so warm?” He crossed them tighter behind his back, chill fingers wrapped around his sides. 

“Must be the company,” he rubbed noses with the man and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders to trap some of the heat before folding his arms between them once more. 

Daryl’s lips welcomed the scout’s once more, returning the sweet gentleness as best he could. He grew quieter when Paul honed in on his nipples, the rough pads of his fingertips teasing them in light circles. Parted lips shared a wavering sigh when Paul’s hips rolled against his, stirring the hardness trapped in his pants to an uncomfortable strain.

Paul gave him another long, deep kiss, moaning into it as he felt Daryl’s firm dick grind back up against his. “Mmm, babe I want to touch you so bad…” 

“I’d like that,” he rasped. 

"Mmm, good. I mean, it's almost been a whole forty-eight hours," he laughed lightly. The scout wrestled their pants open, kissing him continually, pulling out his silky erection and stroking it with warm, nimble hands. He rubbed the turgid crown through the loose skin that covered it, twisting his hand toward the tip with each slow tug. 

"Mmuh," he replied, smoothly, as Paul's lips broke away and drifted downward. 

Eyes on Daryl, he ducked a short ways, taking a nipple between his teeth while his free hand tweaked the other. 

"Shit, man," he groaned, mostly to himself. 

Paul sucked and teased with his tongue for a while, basking in the sensitive whimpers and responsive throbs. He kissed his way back up to Daryl’s throat, loosening his grasp enough to accommodate his own stiff cock and dragging it along Daryl's in slow drives. 

The hunter tilted his head, neck bared to him, eyes closed, lips parted in blissful reverence. One hand roamed up his back to stroke his hair. There was a pause and the familiar click of the massage oil opening and closing, followed by the sensation of warm oil being spread over their lengths. 

Paul tossed the bottle aside and tightened his grip, easing into an eager rhythm, finding and devouring his lover's mouth once more.

Enthralled beneath him, Daryl clung to his backside, parting his knees to pull his hips closer, grinding in tandem with his movements. His thrusts were constrained by the give of his skin in the slick tightness between his lover’s hands and cock, and he found his plateau quickly, mouth aching and raw from their fevered kisses. “Close,” he breathed. 

“Yeah,” he responded, low and rough. There was so much he wanted to say, but in this moment he wanted to hear every little hitch of Daryl’s breath. He’d wanted to slow down, draw it out, but to have his lover beneath him again was intoxicating, and he needed release. He stilled his hands, letting the hunter writhe and thrust into his grasp. 

Daryl pulled Paul’s chest down against his, cradling his neck, face buried in his mousy locks as he lingered on the edge of climax. His hips were completely still but there was no pulling back, the slick pressure of Paul’s cock against his was enough to push him over the brink.

Paul felt him throb and shudder and gasp as his release spilled between his fingertips. It rocked his body for several moments, a barely audible whine escaping the man’s throat as he shuddered out the last of it. He released the hunter’s cock when he grew oversensitive, and stroked himself swiftly until he came, panting into the crook of Daryl’s neck, his whole body wracked with orgasm. 

Both men breathed heavily, and a few more gentle kisses were shared before Daryl pulled Paul’s belly flush against the horrible mess that had been spilled all over his, causing him to yelp with alarm. 

“Oh my god. I just washed these pants.”

“Why’d you wear ‘em to bed, then?” Daryl was shaking with a suppressed laugh as Paul peeled himself up.

“Seriously, it’s all stuck in my hair! Daryl,” he couldn’t help giggling either as he stumbled over to the washbasin and wrung out a cloth. 

Daryl watched patiently, hands tucked behind his head, admiring Paul’s form in the firelight. When those dark vulpine eyes caught his there was almost a hint of embarrassment as he mopped down his front, but the smug curl of his mouth concealed it well.

He gave up on getting it all out of the dark trail below his navel and wiped up the rest, wrung it out and then returned to the bed to clean Daryl up.

They left the candles burning for what little heat they offered, the boards of the house popping occasionally as the cold sank into its bones. Once they had settled under the covers, with Paul tucked under his arm, Daryl drifted off almost the moment he closed his eyes. 

Resting against Daryl’s broad chest, he dared to feel he’d found his home. Paul tried his best to stay awake, listening and quietly gazing at his serene features for a while, before falling into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've already got most of it written," they said.  
> "Maybe I can post twice this month," they said. 
> 
> One more week to the premiere? I might die? So consider this a temporary ending while I work on a portfolio to stop my life falling apart. I had all these danger spikes planned out and.. nah. Nah. I want them to be happy and safe so bad. Thanks for all the sweet comments, thank you for reading, I love you all, Desus will rise.


	7. And With One Look We Knew

When Daryl woke, it was so dark he couldn't see a thing, and an icy damp chill had sunk deep into his skin. He could only vaguely remember drifting off, exhausted, but warm, with Paul's body pressed to his, his scent haunting each breath. 

Now, no blanket covered him, no body warmed his side, and his breath and heart quickened until his palms met the soft mattress beneath him. Assured it wasn't the cold, dank concrete of a cell, he fumbled blindly in the blackness and his right hand found a quilted lump, patting upwards until he felt hair and beard and an ear and Paul startled awake. 

“Daryl,” he gasped, “What time is it,” he mumbled. 

Daryl fell back against the bed again, rubbing his face, and sighed. “How would I know? No window. Got a light?” He whispered. 

Paul released a half-grunt-half-sigh and sat up after a moment's rest, throwing the blankets off and crawling to the table at the foot of the creaky pull-out bed to find a matchbook. A fresh tea light in a glass was waiting next to the expired one, which he lit. 

Daryl took the candle and made for the entrance, as eager to step out and gauge the time of day by the sky above as he was to relieve himself.

“You can use the pail with the lid, won’t smell up the place, I promise,” Paul yawned, crawling back beneath the covers and redistributing them to the other half of the bed. He shivered in wait while Daryl lifted the bar from the brackets anyways and crept outside. 

The stars were still bright with the deepest hint of blue toward the horizon, and Daryl finished his business quickly before securing the door again and rushing back to bed. Shivering, he pulled Paul close under the covers. “Get over here ya’ blanket thief,” he growled against his neck, drawing out a silent chuckle. 

“Wasn’t stealing, it was abandoned property,” he muttered with amusement.

“Yeah right,” Daryl grunted, his stubbled lips pressed a kiss behind his ear and another, gentler on his neck.

Paul hummed, arching his neck into the caress. “Seriously though, you kept getting up. What were you doing?” The kissing stopped, the arms around him loosening their grip slightly.

“Was sleepin’ til just a minute ago.”

Paul wriggled in his grasp and turned to face him, eyes comically curious. “Were you? You got up, put on a shirt, walked around the room in total darkness, mumbling…” the amusement took on a hint of concern.

Daryl furrowed, frantically probing for any memory of his dreams and coming up empty. He didn’t remember falling asleep wearing it, but his shirt was definitely on, inside-out but nevertheless on his body. 

“Don’t remember it.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t answer me, so I figured you were sleepwalking and let you be; didn’t want to risk startling you and having you mistake me for a walker or something.”

He felt heat rising in his face, shaken by that idea. “Didn’t do nothin’ else, I hope.”

“I think you pulled a couple books off the shelf, couldn’t see really.” Paul watched him silently for a while, warm and neutral, no hint of derision on his face. Daryl couldn’t help but feel he’d done something terrible, and swallowed against the shame that clawed at his throat. 

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, involuntarily shuddering as his body began to warm up again. “For wakin’ ya’, I mean.”

“No, Daryl,” he yawned. “It wasn’t on purpose, you don’t need to apologize.” Paul twisted to face him completely, warm hands cupping his face and pulling him into a slow whisper of a kiss, smoothing his neck and shoulders to draw out the contact and willing the gesture to reassure and comfort his man. “Sleep is for the dead, anyways,” he added with a morose laugh.

He puffed humorously. “Not anymore it ain't.” He squeezed Paul tight, releasing a wavering breath and pressing his forehead to Paul’s. They brushed noses, neither feeling much like sleeping, despite the fatigue. 

When Paul realized he was actually shaking, he held Daryl’s face to his shoulder for a while, until he stopped. Daryl still felt disturbed by the revelation of his somnolent wanderings; he’d been plagued by nightmares after the Sanctuary, but they’d been fewer and further between lately. His mind had been preoccupied with one thing lately, and that was Paul, and Paul was the last person he wanted to risk- 

“Hey,” Paul whispered. He tucked his warm hands down the back of Daryl’s jeans, soft lips seeking his to draw him away from the darker corners of his mind. 

Striking. Not just his shape, his warmth, his scent, but inside and out, radiating from Paul's core, a captivating charm drew Daryl closer at every turn. Even when he felt raw and run-down, in the scout’s gentle presence he felt secure. Paul was patient, communicative, open, capable. The hands roaming his body made his blood run hot. Anyone else’s touch would make him cringe, but when the scout did it the feeling was transmuted to something stirring, exciting. Was this what trust was supposed to feel like? The fingers dragging over his hipbones caused a small inaudible gasp. 

“Can we?” Paul whispered against his ear, fingertips tracing the hollows of his hips. 

“Please?” he rasped, arms wound around the smaller man, keeling onto his back and pulling Paul on top of him. 

As their lips touched Daryl felt a newly familiar affection blossom like flames between them. The giddiness of their private sanctuary hadn't yet faded, and, resolved not to waste the night, Daryl kissed him with a deepening passion, hands roaming the firm terrain of his warming body. Clothing came undone, parted, pushed aside, still tangled around limbs but giving way to flesh on flesh where needed. Paul took him again like he did the first time, taming the flames that engulfed them with a cautious grace that built them up to a quaking inferno before they collapsed in the embers, wet and breathless. 

Paul laughed sweetly against the pillow Daryl had clutched over his face to muffle his own groans and whimpers. He shoved it back over his head, excavating his blushing lover for a final kiss before gently pulling out and moving off him to curl against his side. 

Daryl swallowed, catching his breath and absently toying with Paul's hair as the quiet returned.

Paul drew shapes on his chest with a finger, a nagging thought creeping in after a few minutes of silence passed. "Babe?" 

Daryl huffed, amused that the term of endearment had stuck, and turned his head slightly, brow peaked. 

"Are you sure we aren’t going too fast?" he whispered.

Daryl blinked and searched his face contemplatively. "Little late to worry 'bout that, don'cha think?" Daryl hugged him tighter against his side, a gentle hand pulling Paul’s head down to rest against his shoulder.

He returned the wry smirk that faded almost instantly. He listened silently, until Daryl continued. 

"Told ya': I liked ya' from the start. Know I didn't really show it, couldn’t believe it. After a while, I started thinkin’ maybe you really were interested, not just fuckin’ around. Guess I’d already decided I wasn't gonna sleep on it again."

"Again?" The softness in his voice did little to conceal the spike of concern he felt in his gut. As far as he knew, he'd been the first; not that it would matter.

Daryl took in a deep breath through his nose and turned to kiss his forehead. "Don't matter no more. Never really did; wasn’t that deep. He found someone, 'n I was happy for them. They were friends. Family." 

"Did you tell him?"

"Nah. Think he knew it anyhow."

"Was this before?"

Daryl shook his head and huffed a laugh. "No. Couldn't of happened anyways, with my brother 'round an' all."

Paul silently racked his mind, willing himself to relax and melting into his broad shoulder again. "Rick?"

Daryl raised his brow and gave him a sidelong look, then returned his gaze to the ceiling, pulling at his lip with his free hand. "Nah, Rick’s uh, more like a brother. He's gone now. Negan-" Daryl was immediately regretting that one little word. 

His voice was barely a whisper. "Glenn?"

Daryl turned his head away, cursing the surge of grief that unexpectedly gripped him and swallowing the lump in his throat. Something about saying it aloud made everything all too real again.

"I'm so sorry. Daryl--" 

“Stop,” he shook his head, jostling the smaller man reassuringly, despite being unable to conceal the tightness in his voice. "Don’t be, Paul. Shouldn’ta’ brought it up. Everythin’ you’ve done for us, for Maggie, for Sasha, for me—I owe you everythin’. I wanted this. Wanted you." 

Paul pursed his lips, letting out the worry in a long sigh. There was so much he wanted to say that it kept him mute. Daryl sniffed a few times but held it together and, to his astonishment, continued.

“Everythin’ that’s happened? It brought us together. Ain’t much I’d change.” 

Paul held him quietly for a while. When the trembling subsided and the heat had faded from Daryl’s face, he pulled the covers up over their shoulders, and kissed Daryl’s cheek where tears now dampened his hairline. 

Time passed in silence. Daryl watched the candle’s pulsing shadows ripple across the ceiling, feeling somewhat guilty for leading them back to such a dark place. It wasn’t just grief tightening his chest and stinging his eyes, but some kind of sorrowful relief. It took all his concentration to keep his breath steady.

Acknowledging the feelings he’d had for Glenn was more a confession to himself than to Paul. If they’d never met—he didn’t want to open up that bag of what-ifs. Maybe they wouldn’t have come up against Negan in the first place—no, he doubted that; they would’ve been found eventually. Maybe they’d have all starved, though that truck that Paul had expertly rolled into the lake had been loaded. What if he hadn’t even bothered to stop to look for a fuckin’ can orange crush? 

“Paul?” Daryl kept his voice as low as possible, in case he’d drifted off.

“Hm?”

“You a strong swimmer?”

Paul let out a faint, fluttery laugh. “What? Maybe, why?”

“That truck in the lake. If we’re lucky we’ll have a big rig by the end o’ the week. Could dredge it up before the freeze.”

Paul was dead silent for a moment as he wondered how in the hell Daryl’s mind had wandered that far in the span of a minute. “Seriously?”

Daryl shrugged. “Lot o’ that stuff was sealed. If anythin’ the water’s kept it cold.”

Paul thought for a moment, bushy chin propped on Daryl’s chest. They could use the supplies now more than ever, after fighting and fires had depleted their communities. 

“I am not going in that lake by myself.”

Daryl hummed. “Yeah, I ain’t either. Too cold for the snakes, at least.” 

“Go to sleep,” Paul groaned, turning over and wiggling so his back was pressed against Daryl, begging to be spooned.

Daryl obliged. The warmth of the scout pressed against him soothed the turmoil in his chest, but the wheels in his head kept turning. He silently mapped out the tasks ahead in his mind’s eye, filling himself with optimistic dread. Sleep could wait until they made it safely to Hilltop, he thought, before drifting into a deep unshakeable slumber. 

 

________

 

 

Before the gates had opened, a small crowd had already gathered.

Paul had hopped off and strode forward to catch Maggie in a fierce hug. Daryl walked his bike forward into the familiar country courtyard of the Hilltop colony, hair hanging over most of his face, gaze lowered from the mid-morning sun. Once he eased his heavy rucksack to the ground, Maggie embraced him, too, whimpering how good it was to see him. Daryl squeezed her, stubbornly swallowing the tightness in his throat. His stomach nearly caved in with gratitude when she invited them in for breakfast.

“They’re tippin’ that roadblock shiny-side-up and expectin’ yer crew on Friday. Gives you today an’ tomorrow to sort out who’s goin’ and gas up,” Daryl mumbled around his napkin, always the first to clear his plate. When his eyes darted to Maggie’s her distant expression gave him pause before it shifted into a wide, tight smile. 

“Will do. We’ve got some diesel still; can fit four plus a driver. Countin’ on you to hook us up with what you find.” 

Daryl nodded. “There was more cars ‘n what we got space for even. We’ll pick the best ones first, top ‘em up, so make sure you send people who c’n actually drive ‘em back.” Carl rolled his head back at the smirk Daryl shot him, and Enid laughed when Carl jabbed her with a lanky elbow. 

“Didn’t think you’d remember,” she hunched shyly, glancing down the table at Jesus. 

“How could I forget?” Daryl shrugged and finished off the milk in his glass. 

Enid had shadowed him almost as much as Paul when they first arrived from the Sanctuary. She was as much an outsider as he was in the beginning, and must have felt it was her duty to ensure he would stay. She’d filled him in on how Carl had ended up at the Sanctuary with Jesus, starting with his impressive parking skills. Daryl had reassured her that Negan didn’t seem to have any plans to hurt Carl. 

Maggie’s smile spread, appreciating the quiet bond between the two. “You still hungry?” She offered Daryl a basket still piled with rolls. 

Before he could respond, a smirking Jesus was already pushing the un-bitten half his sandwich onto Daryl’s plate. Daryl looked at him.

“I already ate before we left. Didn’t want to wake you.”

Daryl caught the soft look in his eyes and felt his face burn as they carried on with the planning session. Accepting anyone’s generosity was still difficult for him, even though they were family, he’d ultimately had to accept that things simply went easier when he didn’t try to argue. His full stomach was glad for it. 

The Hilltop was far removed from Daryl’s usual stomping grounds, and as soon as everyone went their separate ways, to ‘let the boys get settled in’, he felt at a loss for what to do. 

Paul showed Daryl up to his room, where he found it just as he’d left it, aside from the telltale depression on one pillow indicating someone had ducked in there for a nap at some point. He smacked it smooth and sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Daryl, who hovered awkwardly by the window. 

“Good view, right? It’s better upstairs.”

Daryl looked to him, his distant expression melting into a soft smile at the memory. In the moment, he hadn’t realized the significance of it, Paul wanting to be by his side that night. It was the first one they spent at relative peace, however, and the first time in a long time Daryl hadn’t felt out-of-place and alone. He shrugged loosely.

“How ‘bout we prep yer truck first? Wouldn’t want Maggie to catch us slackin’,” he mused as he stepped towards the bed.

“In a bit. If she wants us somewhere, she’ll, uh-” he blinked sweetly up at Daryl as he closed in and stood between his knees against the edge of the bed, effectively trapping him. Paul smirked up at him as Daryl pulled his hat off, his hair transforming instantly into a static disaster that he immediately smoothed back. 

There was some strange magnetism behind Paul’s eyes, Daryl decided, as he caved into their pull, broad hands cupping the scout’s amber mane behind his neck. He hovered, hunched down over Paul, searching his face for permission to kiss him, or maybe just for the bare pleasure of it. 

Paul gazed back, a mix of emotions pulling at his mouth before he reached up and grasped Daryl’s collar gently, pulling himself up to bridge the space between them.

The hunter melted slowly to his knees at Paul’s feet, lips breaking away as he sank to his haunches. He allowed the scout to brush the hair from his eyes, and felt his heart tremble at the way Paul looked into him, sharp eyes unmistakably ocean green in the midday glow. 

The man’s beauty was only enhanced by their soft antique surroundings. Daryl couldn’t help but remember the first time he’d been struck by it within these walls, only this time he could touch him, kiss him, and do as he pleased.

At that very moment, it pleased him to run his palms up Jesus’ thighs and beneath his shirt. His attention then drifted to the enticing gap between the top buttons of his shirt, and the meaty juncture of muscle and bone that showed. 

Paul gasped when calloused hands dithered up his smooth sides and Daryl’s bristly mouth moved in to lavish a kiss on his collarbone. He fought the urge to recoil from the ticklish feel of the man’s beard against his skin, but still ended up with his knees pulled up, laughing and curled around the man’s broad shoulders with fingers tangled in his soft shaggy hair. He could _feel_ Daryl smiling against his neck as he kept planting firm kisses on his sensitive skin, and tittered and begged him to stop. 

Daryl stopped, coming to a rest on top of Paul, who’d been flattened to the bed by his weight. They enjoyed a lazy moment together, Daryl’s ear to his chest.

Paul combed the man’s hair with his fingers, still catching his breath. 

“Daryl?”

“Mh.”

“You make me really happy,” he said softly.

Daryl propped his chin on his ribcage, arms still wound around his torso beneath his shirt, soft blue eyes on his. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing, despite the swell of joy he felt. His mouth must have quirked into a smile though, because Paul’s mirrored his in earnest. It only made the happiness worse.

He kissed him one more time through his shirt, and his voice rumbled against Paul’s belly when he finally spoke. “Should get ta’ work. Wanna relax with you. Can’t do that if there’s shit to do.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

Daryl heaved himself off the scout with a sigh, grasping his arm and pulling him to his feet.

 

________

 

It didn’t take them long to clean out the truck and top it up; Daryl checked the oil and cleaned the spark plugs while Paul decided to sweep out a year’s collection of trash, dirt and debris. 

Before they washed up, Paul had one more task for Daryl to help with, which involved rearranging the trailer that Maggie and Sasha had vacated to fit some extra tables from the barn. They made another trip to bring in some boxes, one marked as fragile and full of bulbs. Daryl steadied the table as Paul began to attach chains to brackets that were already on the ceiling. It became clear that they were setting up some hydroponics when he noticed the power outlet on the ceiling. 

“You gonna grow in here for the winter?”

“Until Eugene can help us fix the panels on old the barn, this will have to do; the greenhouse is already packed. It’ll be easier to come by to water, anyways. Could you-” 

Daryl was already passing him another chain, and ready with one of the fixtures after that; it wasn’t his first rodeo. 

“Thanks. I mean, I actually prefer it here for now. I’m wary of anything that could start a barn fire. But, we’ll take our time renovating next year if we go through with it, I still prefer the hay loft as it is. Gregory thought the lights would help to keep the animals warm, but that may have been another of his drunken ideas. Seems like a bad idea to me, Maggie too. I think he just wanted as many people in trailers instead of his nice, clean house as possible.” 

“Yeah, I dunno. Could get mold, vermin, better to keep it separate,” Daryl said as he took Paul’s hand before he hopped to the floor, and then climbed onto the second table to install the rest of the fixtures. The hunter worked fluidly as his second pair of hands. “What you gonna grow?”

“Mostly herbs, greens, whatever you can eat young. It all depends on how much light the panels get. Gives us a head start on the seedlings come spring, at least.” 

Daryl passed him the last of the eight long, tubular bulbs that were now suspended over the folding conference tables. The one he was standing on wobbled dangerously before Paul hopped to the ground, Daryl lurching forward to steady him, though he’d already caught his balance. He backed off apologetically, and Paul planted a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thanks, babe.” He gave him a sultry smile as he squeezed past the hunter, who snorted.

“Swear ta’ God, if anyone hears you callin’ me that…”

Paul huffed humorously. “What would you prefer? Honey? Muffin?”

“Fuckoff.”

“Sugartits?”

“Ain’t nobody’s sugartits.”

“Sweetpea?”

That almost made Daryl giggle. “Stop it-”

“-Angel?” The query was soft and met him with warm eyes that betrayed no sarcasm, making Daryl squirm inwardly. Paul’s eyes dropped shyly to the box he was holding, picking at the bottom of it. 

Daryl looked away, flustered, scratching his chin as the scout noisily ripped the tape from the cardboard.

“Got ta’ be a nice spot to hide out,” Daryl said, surveying the new layout as Paul broke down the remaining boxes and tucked them behind the couch. It was now rotated to face the bed they’d moved over to the nook it inhabited. The dining table and four chairs were crammed between the two, with less than a foot to squeeze past on either side, to create a space that could awkwardly seat eight or more. The kitchenette, desk and books stacked around the small shelf against the wall remained. 

“Yeah,” he finally stood upright, taking in the space with Daryl, slightly behind on breath as dust swirled past the light of the window. He coughed once. “The trailers get so cold in the winter, but if you bundle up the lights should make it bearable.” 

Daryl took the ash tray from his desk and placed it in the center of the table as a finishing touch. “All we need now’s a deck of cards,” the hunter mused. 

“And a mop,” Paul added, coughing some more and opening the windows to let in the cold, fresh air. 

Daryl went to prop open the door with one of the thick hardcovers nearby. Paul tensed.

“Not with that, please. There’s a brick out on the stoop.” 

“Oh.” The hunter poked his head out and found it, but before he could put the book back Paul was nervously removing it from his grasp, smoothing it over and checking it for wounds before placing it back on the stack. Daryl knew it was just a book, but he still felt his face flush at the blunder. “M’sorry.”

Paul fiddled with a glove, scanning his carefully ordered mess against the wall momentarily before shaking the tension out of his shoulders. “It’s ok. Shouldn’t be on the floor to start with, but I haven’t had time to find shelving. I could probably move them inside; haven’t had time to settle in since everything went down.” He was kneeling now, looking over the selection thoughtfully.

“Hm. Yeah, they’ll get damp,” Daryl said, distracted and quiet. He shook himself out of the trance-like stare he had going on the lobster bib that was pinned to the wall. “Let’s haul 'em inside tomorrow.”

Paul smiled. “That’d be great.” 

Looking around, Daryl realized that while the room he’d taken up in Barrington was nice and all, the trailer surrounding him was a lot more similar to the basement getaway where they’d spent the night; sparsely appointed, clean, industrial era rustic with a few retro touches. Then it struck him, when he saw the lone bottle of scent on the desk, just how familiar the smell was. Not specifically good or bad, there was definitely an earthy but clean blend of books, plywood, linoleum and cologne that clung faintly to his clothes. 

“Was this your place before Sash ‘n Maggie took it?”

Paul chose a book, slotted it from the row it was in and stood. “I guess. I was staying here since I arrived. The house was pretty packed at the time, and it was nice to have the privacy, you know?” 

“Yeah.” That was a feeling to which Daryl could easily relate. He wandered back to the table and sat at the couch, pulling the plastic pouch from his pocket and starting to roll a cigarette. The bag was already lighter than when Paul had given it to him, and each smoke he rolled was more slender than the last. 

Once the air had cleared, they closed up the trailer, and Daryl took a seat on the stoop to have his smoke. Paul touched his shoulder, still cradling a book in his other arm. 

“I’m gonna head in, wash up. You should catch up with everyone, have a look around. Say hi to Herbert.”

Daryl looked up at him, “Herbert?”

“Carl named it,” Jesus chuckled. 

Daryl snorted. “Kay. Be up in a bit.” He sent Paul off with a light tap on the rump when no one was looking, earning him a dramatic over-the-shoulder death glare. 

 

He found Maggie between rows of spotty, bolted lettuce, gathering seeds. Carl and Enid were in the hay loft, reading with the goats and the fawn, already calling it “Herb” for short. Before the war, he could count the hugs he’d had since the turn on one hand. Today he was actually, tentatively, getting used to it, and glad for it. There was an unspoken, shared determination not to waste another day of the lives they still shared with one another; it just sucked that they’d had to lose so much to learn it.

 

Paul’s door was cracked an inch when he came up the stairs, and the man himself fast asleep in the middle of the bed, book spread face-down on his chest. He wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt and plaid drawstring pants, feet bare and hair splayed in a tangled flaxen halo. He looked so soft and peaceful, and the bed so inviting with him in it. Daryl almost didn’t let him sleep.

Instead he went back outside, wandered the walls, responding to strangers’ greetings with awkward nods and grunts and commiserating grumbles about the morning’s frost, until he came upon the two graves of his friends. He sat between them for a long while, feeling light-headed and empty.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout it,” he quietly began, addressing the bones beneath the soil, and Abraham, wherever he might be. 

“Sasha’s doin’ good. She’s in Alexandria, coverin’ for Eugene. He’s back with us now. Got a deal with the saviors, the good ones, the ones who won’t hurt us, to train one’a’ theirs. Seems genuine, but I dunno. She’ll be back here soon.” 

He propped his elbows on his knees and let his head hang for a moment, swallowing hard, “I’m sorry, Glenn. You’ll never know how sorry I am.” 

The sentence was smothered up as he was wracked by quiet sobs. Eventually he calmed himself with a shaky breath. 

“But I think Maggie,” he choked on her name, “mighta’ forgiven me.” 

He smeared the tears back into his hair, and sat with his head in his hands for a long while, before he finally sighed. “Gonna’ stay by her, keep her safe. Don’t quite know how, yet. Sometimes it’s like you’re not really gone.” 

The wind picked up, the curtain of cloud briefly parting to reveal the sun, and Daryl felt its warm light across his back. He remained there until the sky’s grey returned and darkened and snow began to fall.

 

His fingers were ice, so he warmed them up under the tap in the kitchens, hoping to find some food he could bring up to Paul. He ended up being swept into meal prep for the colony, tasked with trimming the last harvest of string beans for blanching. He sat with basket and bucket at a small table in the corner, and Maggie seemed truly pleased to discover him there. 

“Workin’ hard?” She looked smug as she munched up one of his beans straight from the pail. 

“Hardly,” He shrugged, ducking his eyes after giving her one of those looks that only family recognized as a smile. His basket was just about empty; he gathered the last handful of beans and nipped and peeled from tip to tail with the paring knife, offering one of the nicer-looking ones. “Hungry?” 

“Mm-hmm.” She munched that up too and reached for another, when a wiry-haired woman swept the pail from her reach. 

“Those are for pickling,” she scoffed good-humoredly as Maggie mischievously grabbed for another, “and they aren’t even washed! Dinner’s on its way, sweetie.”

Margaret: that was her name. Daryl swept the trimmings off the table, wadded them up in his hands, tried to ignore the sparkling smile with which Maggie watched him. 

“You know, I wanted to tell ‘im’, an’ I didn’t; what you told me. I’m proud of you. It was all you, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” He put the wad back in the dirty basket so he’d stop fidgeting with it, and started playing with his fingers instead, flustered.

She sighed, watching the cooks work, while more joined to bring out plates and utensils. “I dunno, woo-ing him?” 

A shy laugh broke out of Daryl, and he toothed at his thumbnail, kind of wanting to die. “Dunno. We’d been talkin’. Just kinda’ happened.”

“But you wanted it to, right?”

His tiny sourpuss smile crept out from behind his hand. “Yeah.” 

She put a hand on his knee and squeezed, which he topped with his, chewing his lip awkwardly. 

“Think you’ll stay here? For the winter?” 

His watery blue eyes met hers. “I dunno. If you’ll have me?” He shrugged. “Still got some things to wrap up. Hopin’ this melts,” he nodded out the window; small white snowflakes were still coming down. 

She smiled down at her lap sadly, folding her hands in it, before pinning the sincerity of her words on him with her eyes. “I would love it if you stayed, Daryl. We all would.” 

He nodded, mouth twisted again by another pang of grief. Again, he felt an immense relief wash away much of his apprehension about being in Maggie’s presence.

They watched the cooks work quietly, their flow too coordinated to interrupt with offers to assist. Their patience was rewarded with two heaping plates of food.

“Where’s Jesus?” Margaret asked. Maggie bounced the question to Daryl with her eyes, and Margaret handed him an extra plate of food with a knowing smile, which he did his best to return. 

Exhausted, he carried their meals upstairs and nudged the door open with his shoulder, the bedroom now dark as he carefully put the plates on the desk and shut the door.

Paul was on his side now, book on the nightstand, and didn’t stir until Daryl crept into bed to spoon him. He mumbled something so incoherent the only word he caught was “help”. 

Daryl smiled and kissed his head. He smelled of warm sleepy skin. Paul intertwined his hand with Daryl’s and brought it up to his face to kiss it, then stretched and turned to wrap his arms around him, snuggling against his front and breathing deeply.

“You smell like food,” he finally muttered against his chest. 

“Brought up some dinner,” Daryl kissed his forehead. “You’ve been out all day.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t move. I kept dreaming I got up, and couldn’t find you,” he groaned, “but here you are.” He sighed, still not wanting to move now that he was wrapped safely in Daryl’s arms. 

Their food had cooled by the time they got up and turned on the light. Paul insisted that they bring it up to the rooftop veranda, and dug into his closet for something before ushering Daryl to the upper floor. He pulled down the attic hatch that formed a rickety set of stairs. Cold dusty air poured down and stirred their hair as they climbed up, Daryl before him with a plate in each hand, Paul following and pulling hatch shut behind him.

Roof-high windows over a knee-height sill surrounded them, the night view breathtaking; a sea of starlight bounced off a sprawling snow-frosted landscape. Shadows of the cloud formations that had dumped on them earlier were slouching up over the foothills to the west, concealing what would only be a sliver of crescent moon. 

"Looks like the snow's stopped."

"Wait, it snowed and you didn't wake me up?" Paul gasped, noticing the view for the first time, breath fogging the window. 

"Was busy in the kitchen. Wanted you to rest, after last night," Daryl felt his face flush. Paul had done so much to comfort him, and the memory of his warmth had become a relentless distraction at the edges of his mind. 

Paul's eyes glimmered when he pulled his gaze away from the wintry scene and smiled up at him. "I'm teasing, Daryl. I'm sorry for passing out like that, I'd only planned to freshen up, and then," he shrugged with a quiet laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear and unfolding one of the blankets draped over his arm. 

He threw it down for them to sit on, and tossed the other to the side. Beneath the bundle, he'd been clutching two sample-sized bottles of Jack Daniel's and another tea light, which he placed on the single wooden chair next to the telescope. He lit the candle and settled next to Daryl, pulling the second blanket over their legs before Daryl passed him his plate. 

Paul cracked the top off one plastic bottle of whiskey, passed it to Daryl and tapped his against it. "Cheers," he smiled.

“Cheers.” 

Both ravenous, they tucked into their meals: a creamy chicken stew with corn and green beans, and a fresh roll to sop it up. It was simple but it was the best thing Daryl had eaten in a while, and Paul wasn’t far behind when he made short work of it. Paul stacked their dishes to the side and cuddled against him while they washed it down with the smoky liquor. 

Daryl felt awkward sipping from the tiny bottle, but the burning liquid made his mouth feel clean after the meal. 

Paul laughed a bit when some dribbled into his beard, “should’ve brought glasses up.” 

“‘S warm, too,” Daryl choked after an eye-watering sip went down wrong, and then turned to search the window behind him for the latch. He cracked it open and tucked his drink into the inch-thick pad of snow on the ledge outside.

Paul flinched when the icy air hit him, clutching the blanket to his chest. “Daryl! Oh my god, that’s cold. Here,” he passed his drink to Daryl, who stuck it next to his and quickly shut the window. 

He settled his arm around Paul and felt that he was shivering, so he dragged him closer to shield his back from the cold window panes. Quietly they gazed out at the low, dark forms of hills on the horizon. 

“Too bad we can’t see Alexandria from here,” Daryl said. “Wish we could at least radio each other.” 

“It’s that way,” Paul pointed, correcting Daryl’s gaze by about 30 degrees. “I was actually thinking that since we met. I miss cell phones,” he sighed. “I’d be texting you all day. You’d hate me.”

Daryl snorted. “You’da’ given up, cause I never replied.” 

“Never? That’s cold, Daryl.”

“Was ten cents a text on my plan, had to buy cards ten bucks at a time. Had to save ‘em for Merle. C’mere.” Daryl scooted over a tidge so he could lean into the corner, and tugged Paul into sitting between his legs so he could hold him more comfortably.

Paul scooted back, maybe squashing into Daryl a little, but he wanted to be close so he settled in snug against his chest and let out a long sigh. The view outside was so beautiful that wanted to put out the glare of the candle, but it was too far away. He tried to blow it out from where they lay, but the flickering flame only paused before dancing wildly. 

Daryl snorted. The window was still within his reach, so he cracked it open again to collect their drinks and hand them to Paul. He grabbed a loose handful of snow after that, and lobbed it at the candle, which sputtered out and splattered hot wax and snow all over the chair. Then he pulled the window shut, leaving it cracked just enough to hear the wind in the trees.

“Nice,” Paul murmured. The whiskey slid down a lot smoother cold, and soon they had tossed the empties into a corner to settle into one another. The chill in the room made the warmth of skin on skin so much more enticing, and he let his head rest against Daryl’s shoulder. 

Daryl pulled the scratchy blanket up over them and tucked it beneath his legs before snaking his arms around Paul’s narrow torso, and couldn’t resist the urge to plant a chaste kiss on the scout’s flushed temple. 

Together they watched the stars and the clouds drift slowly over the horizon, witnessing the occasional meteorite. The clanking of dishes and chatter of voices 4 floors below them subsided, and one by one, windows went dark as people settled in for the night. The vibrant deep blues of the night sky permeated the room, and the occasional pair of ducks or flock of geese passed them by as noisy silhouettes. Snow still hung swirling in the air, stirred off the roof by the wind.

“Hey,” Paul nudged. 

“What?”

“That hill over there,” he motioned with a jerk of his chin toward the most prominent dark lump in the horizon, “think we could see both Hilltop and Alexandria from up there?”

“Maybe. It’s kinda far. Why?”

“Well, we’re too far for radios, and the phone lines are down, so what if we had like, a warning system, with fires, like the beacons of Gondor…”

“What?”

“We could have a tiny cabin, and live up there and keep watch, and not have to be around people, you could hunt, I could um, hunt, if you taught me…” he shrugged meekly. “We’d visit often, of course. We’ll need horses.”

Daryl felt his heart swell at the idea. Although duty and love bound him to stay close his family, he did share the sentiment, and it would allow them to watch over both communities while staying together. “Wouldn’t you miss anyone?”

Paul thought for a moment. “Probably. But I like this; just us.” 

Daryl hugged him closer. “Why don’t we just fix the phone lines, and go hang out in your little hidey-hole now an’ then?” 

He couldn’t see Paul’s face, but he felt his face-splitting smile against his cheek. 

“That works, too,” he murmured, rubbing his hands up the insides of Daryl’s thighs. It hadn’t been intentional, his fingers were just chilly and seeking a warm crevice, but he heard the breath hitch in the man’s throat.

Daryl cursed his flesh for responding to such an innocent touch; it was probably nothing, but Paul was really wedged up against him, and the pressure hadn’t been easy to ignore. He felt a stirring, and apparently Paul’s strong fingers sensed it as well. 

“You really think we could fix the lines?” He dug his nails into the taut denim straddling his backside, testing Daryl’s response.

Daryl grunted. “Dunno. Ask Eugene.”

The hunter’s hardness was definitely noticeable now, and Paul couldn’t help but tease. He continued to caress his legs, and shifted his hips to create some friction.

“Paul,” he breathed with a gruff sigh, tilting his head down to kiss his bare neck, hands coming to life and smoothing over his body through his shirt. 

Paul felt the insistent pulse against his tailbone, the hunter’s breath trembled heavy on his cheek. His own half-hardness had grown into an aching need, and he bit his lip as Daryl’s hands roamed lower, deliberately skipping down his legs to his knees. 

“So damn close already, fuck,” Daryl moaned. 

“Not in your pants this time, I hope,” he teased into a groan when Daryl’s strong hand smoothed up his thigh and squeezed him through his clothes. 

“Where do you want it, then?” Daryl rasped, mouthing at his exposed neck.

For a moment, Paul was tongue-tied. It had only been one drink, but either that or the sudden shift in blood pressure was hitting him. The salaciousness of the question delivered in Daryl’s stony voice was effectively causing his mind to short-circuit.

Daryl’s hands moved up over his chest, heavy chin prickling his shoulder through his shirt as he smugly rested in wait. A thumb swiped over his nipple.

He gasped at that. “Anywhere, just- not here,” he managed weakly. 

Daryl took a deep breath and eased off, leaning back to get comfortable against the wall again. Paul was still sat stiffly upright, so he scooped his long hair back over his shoulders and combed it with his fingers. 

“It’s nice up here,” he mused quietly, admiring the silky locks as he played with them. He liked touching Paul. 

“Mmm, yes, but the sound carries,” Paul whispered. _Directly into Maggie’s room,_ he kept to himself; he didn’t want to be a complete buzz kill. Daryl began combing his fingers along his scalp, and he felt his whole body tingle with goose bumps. 

“That feels good,” Paul sighed, pulling his knees up and glancing back over his shoulder. “Do you want to go to bed?” 

Daryl’s red face was obvious even in the dim blue light. He shook his head and tugged Paul’s sleeve, so he reclined against him and relaxed. 

“Not yet,” he whispered, tugging the blanket back into place, settling his arms around Paul’s waist.

They had all night for that. Right here, right now, for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing everyone a light and loving 2017! Thank you so much for all the kind comments. Sometime's I'm too shy to reply, but this chapter's for you.


	8. The Sun Had Set

Daryl had never been big on kissing. The few girls he’d been with were sloppy, slobbery, drunk, and almost sarcastically loud and horny. They were usually Merle’s type, and actually most of them had been Merle’s at some point, which was why, he’d assumed, he’d found them so unappealing. They tasted like cheap white wine and drug store lipstick. He’d had better make-out sessions with his pillow.

Daryl loved kissing Paul, and he got the sense that Paul liked to be kissed, even though he might not be the best or most experienced at it. There wasn’t a place on his body he didn’t want to worship, and he was keenly aware of the sensations he could produce with his mouth (he’d practised on his hand). Some spots made him writhe with impatience, some made him keen. Others were ticklish, apparently, which made Daryl snort into his navel, only escalating Paul’s struggles. 

“Daryl, don’t,” he laughed, shoving the man’s forehead away from his gut. 

The grin Daryl flashed was pure evil. 

“No!”

“Wasn’t gonna. Settle down.” 

Paul breathed in through his nose and braced himself, allowing Daryl’s lips to close in on him once more.

To his relief, Daryl continued with simply kissing a trail downward. His hipbones were very sensitive, and hovering over them lulled Paul into steely breaths, eyes darkly gleaming from where he’d been tossed into the heap of pillows Daryl had piled on the bed while he brushed his teeth. 

Daryl’s lips stepped along the curve of his pelvis to the densely pelted space between his dick and thigh, pausing to make sure Paul’s eyes were on his. He was careful with his teeth; they were sharper than Paul’s, gently pulling the loose skin into his mouth, sucking and laving from base to tip along the side of his erection. 

Paul’s breath caught in his throat, fingers slowly closing around a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck, quietly agape as Daryl’s mouth worked him over.

It was Daryl who moaned low when his lips closed around the head, causing his lover’s thighs to quake and clamp down on his skull. He took that as his cue to pause, breathing through his nose and sucking gently.

Paul’s lungs burned in his quest to keep it down. When he felt Daryl’s tongue swell and slide against the sensitive throat of his cock, he whimpered. 

“Shit, Daryl, shit, hah, wait,” he gasped. 

Daryl felt him throb in his mouth and popped his lips off, letting him simmer at the edge, swathed in his hot breath. He waited for Paul’s knees to fall away from each other again before resuming his attention with a lighter touch. His own cock ached, stiff and leaking against the denim that trapped it against his thigh, but that could wait. Paul’s hips thrust once, filling his mouth, his nails dragged over his scalp and that was almost enough to set him off right there. 

Paul breathed mechanically, forced himself to relax as the swell of climax ebbed away and resumed a slower build, grateful that Daryl had dialled back the intensity. 

“Yes, yes, ohh that’s good,” he whispered, caressing the hunter’s face and gently rising back into his mouth with each slow dive. 

Daryl had always had trouble getting off with women, and sharing a bedroom with Merle while growing up hadn’t exactly permitted him the privacy to take care of himself as much as he wanted to. If he couldn’t tug one out before the shower went cold, then he’d basically missed his chance. There were few fantasies that got him off fast enough, and he kept those tucked away at the back of his mind for when he needed them most. They mostly involved either sucking dick or riding it. He’d tried to feel guilty for it, he really had; he knew he was supposed to. 

With Paul throbbing in his mouth, pulling on his hair, flushed and whimpering broken prayers that both cursed and praised his tongue at once, he had to keep his hands off himself or he’d be done in a matter of seconds. 

“Shit you’re so beautiful, oh fuck, Daryl, you look so good on my cock,” Paul crooned under his breath, head falling back on the cushions, chest swelling and body arching as he chased the sensation that met his dick when Daryl’s throat closed around the head and pushed him back out.

Daryl tried not to smile, and failed. 

“Ah- teeth,” he hissed with a start.

Daryl removed his mouth again, catching his breath and murmuring a quiet apology before taking him in again, letting Paul’s hands guide him. Again, the scout’s hands wound their way into his locks and brought him back to speed, his hips quaking and moving with a life of their own as he got close.

“Oh god, oh god, fuck, Daryl I’m close,” he whimpered, when Daryl abruptly grunted and pulled loose from his desperate grasp. 

“Ah—what’s wrong?” He let go again, breath heavy, looking apologetic. He was so beautiful.

“Yer pullin’. Hurts,” he rasped, panting, still loudly tasting his cock as it bobbed and strained. Paul was so excitable, and edging him, while unintentional, was becoming a little too much fun.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, shakily, stroking Daryl’s face and thumbing cheek. “Some people like it,” he smirked, “I’ll be more careful.” 

“Some people, huh,” Daryl’s brow quirked, coy gaze pinned on his as his lips skimmed his cock to the base, where he kept massaging with his tongue, stroking his shaft with one hand. He lifted himself onto his hands and knees, undoing his own pants and kicking them off before scooping up Paul’s legs and pressing his knees up, broad palms smoothing along the undersides of his thighs. 

“Damn, yer flexible,” he mused, mostly to himself, as Paul’s knees folded all the way back to his chest. 

“I am? I—oh,” Paul’s eyes rolled back in his head, lids fluttering shut when Daryl began mouthing at his balls. He wasn’t expecting to feel Daryl’s tongue tease his rim, either, and the sensation came as a surprise that made him momentarily recoil. He’d only washed up with a hot cloth before bed, but it felt too good to stop him now, and slowly he relaxed into Daryl’s touch.

It wasn’t the best thing Daryl had ever tasted, but Paul was clean, and his reaction was worth it. He got used to it fast enough, enjoying how his lover’s body responded to a tongue in his hole and the clumsy backhand he was giving his dick. The way Paul clenched around him and rocked his hips, toes curled and moaning, made his dick want to be where his tongue was. 

“Feels so good, Daryl,” he whispered. His thighs quaked when Daryl shifted above him, slicking two fingers in his mouth and going straight to work inside of him. 

The taste of pre-cum flooded his mouth as his tongue smoothed over the head, and a satisfied growl escaped him as he slid his mouth back down his cock. 

“Oh shit babe, oh god that’ll, ah,” he let out a long groan, bracing himself on his elbows and lifting his head to watch. 

He knew he was close, but he didn’t want to stop him this time. He brought his movements to a standstill and sucked on him real slow, cheeks hollowed as he took breath through his nose, before he set his mind to finishing the job with his mouth and two fingers. 

“Oh yes, Daryl, please, please let me,” Paul’s hands twisted in the sheets, head falling back with a silent shout, his body lit up with pleasure as Daryl’s fingers massaged his sweet spot. He glanced down, flushed with rapture, and when Daryl’s eyes flicked up to meet his he came hard. His body jolted, arched off the bed and froze momentarily before his orgasm tore through him. 

Thick, bitter cum pulsed onto Daryl’s tongue as he lapped gently against the sensitive underside. He swallowed most of it before the taste really sank in enough to have second thoughts, letting Paul grind the rest out into his slack and watering mouth. His jaw ached with relief, cock hung swelled and weeping between his legs, and finally he reached for it.

Paul could hardly lift his head, stars swimming at the edges of his vision. The feel of Daryl’s tongue still warming his cock was sublime and he blindly stroked his cheek with pure adoration. Daryl’s fingers still scissored lazily inside him, milking the last aftershocks from his body before he sucked him clean with a wet smack and swallowed. He rest his head on Paul’s hipbone, panting against his leg and idly stroking himself. 

“Daryl… fuck, that was,” he was at a loss, still stroking his hair. “Are you still..?” 

“Mhm. Real hard,” he breathed, planting one last kiss on his soft, spent cock. “You still want it?”

“Yes, babe, I need it. Come here,” he urged, giving Daryl a lazy squeeze between his thighs, combing a loving hand back to cradle his neck and draw him close. 

Daryl’s eyes were ravenous in the lamplight. Without much pause he spat into his palm and slicked himself up, mounting Paul and quickly swapping out his fingers by shoving inside. 

“Ah! Easy,” Paul flinched and stiffened, automatically bracing his heels on his hips to slow him.

“M’sorry,” Daryl whispered, not really looking sorry as he watched Paul from above. He paused, halfway in, to let him get comfortable, moving down over him to kiss him once more, feasting on his mouth in slow languid licks that let Paul continue to catch his breath between. 

He could taste himself on Daryl’s tongue, and groaned. Once the intrusion no longer stretched him painfully, he nudged Daryl closer with his heels, and Daryl hid his face in Paul’s hair, digging in deeper, deeper, gathering him up in his arms and holding him tight. 

Paul felt both smothered and filled, both in a good way. He caught Daryl’s earlobe between his teeth, and felt the man twitch inside him. Despite the conclusion of his arousal, he was comforted to have Daryl bearing down on him, seeking out his own pleasure, pushing into him rhythmically. As Daryl slowly warmed into him, stubble and tongue marking up his throat, and thick fingers anchoring themselves in fistfuls of hair, he felt a fresh heat building between his legs. 

Daryl loved fucking him. Loved the way his legs twitched, as if electrified, the hushed pleas and bruising fingers that urged him faster. His soft pink lips, strong tongue and coarse beard returning every smouldering kiss, the lusty haze in his jewel-like eyes as he informed him he could be rougher, if he wanted. The second time Paul came was louder than the first, even with Daryl’s hand clamped gently over his mouth, and Daryl followed shortly with a shaky groan. He was quite proud he’d lasted so long, perhaps something to do with the fact they’d done it almost every night for a week. His dick was going to be sore. 

Paul smirked and bit playfully at the palm over his face, chasing it away. He gave Daryl’s head a kiss.

All he could do was let out a quiet chuckle where he still lingered, breathless and overspent, forehead propped on Paul’s collarbone. He rolled off the scout and snuffed out the lantern next to the bed, then yanked a sheet over them and pulled Paul into his arms. They basked in the wake, and silence gradually replaced the rushing of blood in their ears.

Paul sighed; his crack felt dangerously wet. “Going to wash up. We should, um, probably be using condoms,” he mused. 

Daryl huffed. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout the mess.” 

He rolled his eyes, and planted another kiss on Daryl’s shoulder before dragging himself out of bed and pulling on a robe.

“Paul?”

“Yes?”

“Could ya’ bring some water?” He was still trying to clear his throat from the taste left behind. 

“Sure thing,” he smiled, then left for the washroom down the hall.

 

 

A timid knock at the door shook them awake and sent them stumbling into their clothes. 

“Yes?” Paul called shakily, snatching up condom wrappers and tissues and tossing them in the trash. Daryl’s amused huff caught him a feisty glare.

“Jesus? It’s nine,” a shy voice replied from the other side of the door.

He paused, gaping as he processed what was meant by the comment before visibly cringing and stumbling back out of his dirty cargo pants. 

“Th-thank you, Sadie. Have Clara start the warm-up with some stretches. I’ll be right down,” he barked to the door as he dug into his closet for sweatpants. Shit, he muttered. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

Jesus sighed. “Defense classes. I completely forgot,” he laughed, pulling a sleeveless t-shirt over his head and yanking his hair into a bun in front of his vanity. 

“When’d you start teachin’?” Daryl sat back on the bed and admired him as he arranged his hair with practised movements, finally pulling the elastic from between his lips to fasten the knot atop his head.

“Not soon enough. And I’m late; you’re distracting,” he turned his head to inspect for fly-away strands, and caught Daryl’s stare with a mischievous smile in the mirror, “but you’re welcome to join, if you can find something other than jeans to wear.” 

Paul leaned down to peck his cheek as he passed him on his way to the door.

Daryl was left scratching his head as Paul rushed out of the room barefoot. He left his vest draped over the armchair, fished some light black sweatpants and a t-shirt from his bag, and changed.

 

 

There were times when Daryl felt completely in control of himself and his surroundings. There were other times he felt his mood shift like the wind. The calamitous loss he would face, should he slip up, seemed to guarantee that he would, and since he’d started seeing the young scout that uneasiness had crept upon him in the untimely ways. 

His first instinct was to take off. Make up an excuse to hunt, get outside the walls, and breathe, wait, cry, whatever he had to do, until he felt the space in his head clear enough to let others in again. 

He was going to try today, though. He wanted to see this, and be a part of it. He pushed the pressure to the back of his mind, swallowed his pride, and stretched his fingers towards the toes on his right leg. He couldn’t reach.

_Distracting._

Deep breath in, slow-ly, one, two, three, four, hold.

_You make me feel safe._

Slow exhale. Other leg.

_We need you._

Daryl struggled awkwardly through some of the stretches. He was sore, conspicuously sore, and still a little stiff on the side where he’d been shot, but he wasn’t the only one who looked a little wobbly. He was closest to the door, his only comfort should he panic and bail, but after the warm-ups Paul took over at the front, and this was what he’d come to see. Paul bowed. 

The class mirrored the gesture, and Daryl staggered to follow. 

“Good morning, everyone. Glad to see you’re here.” Paul’s eyes glanced over everyone’s but Daryl’s. His cheeks were pink. Daryl fought the smile that threatened to usurp his lips. 

The banquet hall, with its marvellous polished oak floors, had been re-purposed into to a long, narrow indoor gymnasium. It was currently packed with just about everyone, young and old, spaced out just enough that they wouldn’t smack one another; an impressive turn-out. 

Maggie, who until that moment had been obscured from Daryl’s sight, had followed along with the stretches and breathing exercises, and took a seat in a chair in the front corner and picked up a ledger, scrutinising the crowd as she made marks on the paper. Her resting icy scowl immediately softened when her eyes landed on Daryl’s. He felt himself flush, embarrassed that he was embarrassed to be seen participating, and turned his attention to Paul. 

At his command, they sat cross-legged on the floor facing the young scout, who addressed them with an intrepid confidence, welcoming the new and inviting the advanced students to join him in reviewing the previous lessons with partners at the front; basic attacks, and how to block them. 

It was a lot for Daryl to take in, but there was a strict order to the room that helped him feel invisible in the crowd. After the introduction, they practised the moves in unison, facing imaginary foes before them; Paul called out the moves, the crowd echoed his commands as they moved. Daryl remained silent, the syllables unfamiliar, focused on imitating the rest of them as Paul walked between the rows, adjusting the forms of his students. 

Daryl was last, and felt himself sweating already; if anyone had told him he’d been throwing punches wrong a year ago there’d have been a scene, but his respect for Paul had outgrown his susceptibility to embarrassment. Though his eyes betrayed his happiness to see him while he approached, Paul’s manner was gentle and perfunctory, and Daryl swallowed his pride and followed his instructions with quick nods. 

He wasn’t too far off; Paul shook out his hand after Daryl struck it. Paul reminded him not to lock his joints, and guided him through the slowed-down motions on how to follow through. When his hand pressed on the small of his back to adjust his posture, he felt a bit of heat in his face, and he was grateful when Paul continued on to the front of the class without paying him any special attention. 

After going through the same process with blocks, and kicks, they partnered up and practised for a while. Earl was nearest Daryl, and seemed just as uncomfortably out of place as Daryl, as one of the town’s elders. Daryl liked Earl, who was, not surprisingly, very strong, despite the gentle demeanour. 

After supervising each pair, he deemed them capable of safely practising amongst themselves until the next week. He then dismissed the class, urging them all to hydrate and stretch, and welcoming those interested in advanced training to remain behind for the sparring, or to watch it. When everyone straightened and bowed back to him in unison, Daryl felt his heart swell with admiration. 

He lingered to the side as most of the residents filed past and out the door, a few of the younger ones remaining and rearranging the mats to create a sparring area. 

Maggie got up and crossed the room to open the window next to him, then leaned with her back to it, elbows propped on the sill. The air was heavenly, cold as ice and dry, and a crust of snow still clung to the outside world.

“Nice of you to show up,” she said to him, eyes on Jesus as he clapped once and began speaking to the smaller gathering. 

Daryl nodded and ducked his head when he caught the corner of her mouth turn up wryly. His face was on fire, drawn to the door when it opened, and Carl stepped inside timidly. 

“Hey,” he said, immediately looking guilty as Maggie stared him down.

“A little late, Grimes,” she said. 

“Carl!” Jesus left the rest of the class to their drills, and joined them by the door. 

“Hey,” he waved awkwardly. “I’m sorry I’m late. Did I miss everything?”

“Nothing I can’t show you now, if you’re willing to stay. Why don’t you start with some sit-ups and push-ups while I talk to Maggie?” Paul motioned toward the extra mats in the corner. 

Carl nodded, and went on to get started as Paul turned to Daryl and Maggie, lips pursed. 

“Maggie, I’m so sorry I was late; it won’t happen again. Is there anything I can help with today?”

She glanced between them, softening a little at the concession. “Actually, I was hopin’ to steal Daryl, if you’re done with him.”

Paul shrugged, overly innocent. “Of course. He shouldn’t push himself too hard on his first lesson. How’s your shoulder doing?” he asked, turning to Daryl.

Daryl looked from Maggie, to Paul, and then over to Carl as he rolled his shoulder a bit, testing it. The teen was sweating already. He gave an iffy shrug and a hidden smile to Paul. 

“It’s fine.”

It was only then that he noticed the pink and purple marks up Paul’s neck. Shit. Paul stared him down with his best poker face as he turned a deep crimson.

“Good.” Maggie patted him toward the door, turning to Paul. “We’ll be in the new greenhouse.” 

 

 

By dinnertime, the seeds were started, seedling trays waited with fresh, rich soil, panels hooked up, lights on, and vapour shields taped over the walls and ceiling of the trailer. Daryl had worked up a sweat eagerly claiming the bulk of the heavy work, turning the compost until his palms blistered and lugging the dirt to the trailer. He’d even carefully moved all of Paul’s books into boxes and carried them inside, trying his best to keep them all in the order of their haphazard stacks. 

Maggie was a lot more relaxed knowing she’d have the light work to keep her busy during the long, dark winter months, and the schedule was nearly filled already with volunteers eager to get some artificial sunlight every week. 

When Paul finally showed up at the trailer, Daryl had already left. Maggie told him he’d gone to wash up, but Paul had just come from the common washroom where he’d rushed through a cold rinse after his lessons. When he returned, Daryl was still absent. 

He checked his room, and saw the boxes piled in the corner, his heart lurching a little until he saw the care with which they had been packed. No big deal. Daryl wasn’t in any of the common areas, so he headed up to the rooftop lookout to see if he could spot the hunter outside. As soon as he pulled the hatch down, cold air and a faint hint of tobacco smoke wafted down. 

Paul crept up the stairs as quietly as possible, into the empty room. 

One window was cracked, and outside Daryl sat at the edge of the flat roof overlooking the rolling woods and distant, abandoned towns. He thumbed at the loose skin hanging off his reddened, filthy hands, cigarette hanging idle from his lips. He startled and turned when Paul’s boot crunched against the gravel that covered the roof, eyes red and face pale, like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Daryl?”

Daryl turned away and stood stiffly, pocketing the cigarette, already extinguished.

“Bathroom free?” He didn’t look to Jesus when he asked, his hair covered most of his face.

“Yeah, it’s all yours. Is everything ok?”

Daryl shrugged loosely, eventually turning and making an empty attempt to pass him without looking, but he caught his arm gently. 

“Daryl.” His voice wavered slightly. 

When his eyes flashed up to Paul’s he gnawed out a weak smile, and nodded. It was obvious he’d been in tears. Paul ran a gentle hand down his arm and let him pass without pushing for specifics. 

After fashioning a makeshift shelf out of cinder blocks and boards, and Paul had arranged his books in a way that pleased him, they spent a quiet evening reading in his bedroom. 

By the time it got dark, Daryl had dozed off at his side, and Paul let him sleep through mealtime. He organized the morning’s crew with Maggie after they ate, and brought up a plate of food for the hunter. He hadn’t even moved, and Paul was glad he was getting rest, more than happy just to admire his sleeping face and wild hair from where he read in the armchair. There had been something raw to his emotional state, and he really didn’t want to pry. He chalked it up to an introvert recovering from a long day of interaction, and he was mostly right.

When Daryl woke he was his usual ravenous self and cleared his plate even though it had gone cold. 

“How are you feeling?” Paul couldn’t help but look into his eyes and ask, after curling against his side to rest his head on his chest. His novel was folded closed around his thumb, cradled between them.

Daryl was a little leery, not accustomed to the question. He toyed with Paul’s hair, combing the ends between his fingers as he thought about his answer.

“Tired. Better.” 

Paul’s brow perked a little, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead, Daryl pressed a kiss to his brow.

“Y’did good today. The class, I mean. Couldn’t do somethin’ like that.” 

He felt his cheeks warm at the compliment, not accustomed to receiving them. Daryl’s eyes were gentle and kind and full of admiration. _Love ya’_ , Paul imagined him saying, and he felt a lump form in his throat. 

“Thank you for coming,” was all he could think to say. 

Daryl kissed him. His lips were fine and soft and warm, and he wanted to say it. Battering around inside his heart, like a moth caught in a jar. 

_I love you._

He couldn’t. Couldn’t comprehend why he thought doing so would somehow ruin everything. Instead, he tucked his book under his pillow behind him and got more comfortable against Daryl’s side. He was a little relieved that Daryl was as drained as he was, and content to just cuddle and kiss. 

Daryl eventually rolled onto his side after whispering goodnight, and turned out the light. He slept soundly in Paul’s arms, pressing into him when they wound around him, and Paul found himself swept up in a deep sleep nestled against his strong back. 

 

________

 

They drank in all the rest they could, right up until the wake-up call outside the door and the rumble of heavy boots congregating downstairs. There was no time for pillow talk, and so they were dressed and ready with military speed. Paul swallowed as Daryl hoisted his bag and crossbow.

“Are you going back?” 

“Got some work to finish,” Daryl grunted noncommittally. Paul’s wan face made him pause, and he pulled him into a firm hug and kissed him before they left the room.

Earl drove the truck up to the gate, with Eduardo riding shotgun, and Brianna and Dante in the back. Daryl tossed his bag and weapon into the truck bed so there’d be more room for Paul to ride with him. Maggie, Carl, Enid and others were there to see them off. Brianna cranked her window down as Daryl waddled his rumbling bike up next to them.

“There’s room back here, Jesus! Come on, you don’t have a helmet!” 

“I’m good here, but thanks,” he called as he got on behind Daryl, adjusting his coat so it would be pinned beneath his legs, and then wrapping his arms around the man’s bulky middle. He’d worn a denim shirt over his flannel, with the vest over top.

“But it’s warm in here! We’ll put on your mix tape,” she appealed as the gates opened. She raised her eyebrows at Harlan, who had jogged up to hand her a list, then tucked it safely away in her pocket. 

“I don’t know, Bri, he looks warm enough where he is,” Dante teased.

Daryl glared, Paul laughed and shook his head. 

They took to the roads cautiously, slowly. Most of the snow had sublimated from the blacktop, but the temperature still hovered just below freezing and there could still be black ice. They slowed for a few drifts, but once they hit the main stretch the sun shone brightly through patches of cloud, and the moist air indicated a thaw. 

Daryl peeled ahead, fast enough that the wind ripped the toque from Paul’s head. He laughed. 

 

 

Nearly every fit fighter from Alexandria was there, which left Daryl feeling a bit uneasy about the hole in their community’s defences. He was still happy to see everyone for the most part, and Sasha nodded to him, eyes smiling and rifle lowered as he rolled to a stop next to her. 

“Morning, boys,” she greeted them both. “Where are the rest?”

“Should be just behind us,” Jesus said as he dismounted, attempting to comb his hair smooth with his fingers and shaking out his cold legs. 

Daryl did a near double-take when he saw how wild the scouts hair had become, and snorted out an almost-laugh. 

“Lose yer hat?” 

Paul shrugged, cheeks already pink from the cold air. 

“Didn’t want you to stop for it. I’ve got extras.”

As if on cue, the rest of the Hilltop team rounded the bend, laughter and whooping audible as Brianna waved his hat out the window. Daryl disapproved of the noise they were making, but Paul laughed, and waved them over. A couple of Alexandria’s vehicles were lined up at the side of the road; Daryl rolled his bike to where they were parked, and Earl pulled up to park right behind him.

“You shouldn’t have.” Paul smiled and caught his beanie, pulling it down over his puffy hair, which still exploded out from beneath it.

Brianna had gone straight past him to pull Sasha into a hug. As a group, they joined the others. Most hung back as Eugene and Earl directed Rick on where to secure the chains, and they all watched from a short distance as the two began to winch the trailer off it’s side with the tow that Rick had brought. The loud motor and creaking of metal had everyone on high alert for walkers. 

There were only a couple that tumbled out of the woods, and Paul and Sasha silenced them before they had a chance to stand. 

Wiping off his blade, Paul caught Daryl lost in thought, chewing his lip and fidgeting as he stared into the wreckage.

“You seem nervous,” he spoke to Daryl, but his eyes were on the tractor trailer as it teetered pendulously. 

“Don’t want no one gettin’ hurt. If you did, I’d-” he paused, an arm instinctively coming across Paul’s chest to back him up alongside himself. There was shouting to stay back as the trailer crashed upright, making a sound like a gunshot as one of the tires blew out. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Daryl thought. 

 

 

He wasn’t sure how he was suddenly on his back, on the floor of a moving minivan. 

“Daryl! No, don’t, stay down.” 

He was confused, and something cold was on his face, which he fumbled for. Paul’s hand? His mouth was full of blood. He turned on his side, as the contents of his stomach seemed to want out. More blood had curdled in his gut, and he immediately felt better being rid of it. Everything looked grey, and not really there. Coughing made his head hurt.

“Okay, that’s okay, you’ve been hit in the head, you need to stay still,” Paul murmured. 

“He awake?” Tara was driving? 

“Keep your eyes on the road, he’ll be ok,” Rosita said. 

“Why aren’t we going to Hilltop? He needs Harlan,” Paul piped up as soon as they made a turn. The panic in his voice was obvious, even in Daryl’s detached state. He blinked. His fingertips felt like cotton.

“Sasha’s going to get him, she’ll bring him. Alexandria’s closer. He needs to be moved as little as possible.” 

“My bike,” he heard himself mumble. 

“Don’t worry, Rick will take good care of it,” he heard a little humour return to Rosita’s voice, and felt the cold thing move to another spot on his head. The pain and pressure eased a little. A shirt, filled with snow, he realized. Paul’s shirt; his chest was bare beneath his coat. 

“Lay down,” he pleaded, gently, as though tired of repeating himself. There was no longer any humour in Paul’s eyes. The gates opened, and Daryl wondered how they’d gotten there within minutes. 

 

 

The light Harlan flashed in his eyes hurt. Thinking hurt. 

“Where’s Rick?”

“He’s still helping the salvage crew. It’s only been a few hours.”

“Should be helpin’-” Daryl realized his upper torso had been strapped to the cot. They were in Denise’s office. 

“Where’s Denise?” 

Harlan gave Paul a grim look, and looked into Daryl’s ears with the little pointy light on a stick.

“You need to hold still, Daryl.” Paul’s voice was trembling, and it made Daryl scared. He tried to turn his head, but he couldn’t. The brace around his neck was comfortable and tight. He felt like a baby bird in a nest. That thought was stupid, and made him giggle. Giggling made his head throb again, so he stopped.

“He’s disoriented, but the nosebleed’s stopped, and I can’t feel any fractures. You’ll need to keep the compress cold. I’ll stay until the swelling starts going down, and we can assess from there; for now, he needs to rest.” Harlan was already putting away his stethoscope. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m just going to get the rest of my things from the car, call for me if the monitor goes off.” 

“Okay.” Daryl felt Paul’s hand slip into his and squeeze it hand as the door shut gently. He heard the beeping get faster, in time with the sickening worry that swelled in his chest.

“Am I gonna die?”

Paul laughed. “No. We won’t let that happen. You’re going to have an impressive bruise, though.”

“I wanna see it.”

“We’ll get you a mirror.” Paul was standing so Daryl could see his face. He kept trying to turn, even though he knew that he knew better. 

“Paul?” He sounded very serious.

“Yes?”

“You know what to do, right? If I die? You’ll do it?”

Paul’s mouth twisted, and his eyes took on a glassy shine. 

“I do, Daryl, don’t worry. I’m staying with you.”

Daryl wasn’t sure why he’d asked that, but he felt a little relieved, and felt himself getting emotional; he was angry he couldn’t be on the road with his family helping, disappointed he’d been taken away from the action, and taken so many others away from it. Harlan should be at Hilltop, for Maggie, not stuck watching over him because of some freak accident. He was even a little bit scared. Of all the dumb ass ways to die.

“Paul?”

“Hyeah?” He’d sat down again, out of his field of view, hand still in his, heard him swallow though, his voice sounded stuffy. 

He wanted to say it more than anything. Tell him he loved him, tell him that every night he fell asleep excited to look into his eyes the next morning, that being followed around and doted on pissed him off in the most wonderful way, but he knew this wasn’t the time. He didn’t want Paul to think he was afraid. He wanted to get better, and he would, so that he could tell him properly. It was probably the clearest thought he’d had since a frayed chunk of rubber the size of a shoe had flown straight into his face and knocked him off his feet.

“Can ya’ get me somethin’ ta’ help me sleep?”

He sniffled, and laughed. 

“Oh thank god, I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, it's been sitting at 90% for weeks now. There should only be 2 or 3 chapters left based on the outline, but it keeps changing as some things take too long and others somehow manage to happen in 500 words. The heck? 
> 
> Thank you so much for the sweet comments, even the small silly ones make me so happy, i don't always know how to reply but it really makes me happy to know some people liked reading this and it always pushes me to write a little each day, even if it's just a line.


	9. On That Wretched World That Broke Us

When Daryl came to, his first thought was of water. He heard someone smashing up ice in a mug or bowl or something, and the sound of each chop felt like his own head was being struck by a pick. When he tried to make a sound, he had to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. A croak that made him cough emerged in place of his voice. He tasted blood and bile and some kind of chemical.

His nose itched, but he couldn’t lift his hand to scratch it, still strapped to the cot. He remembered brief flashes of the previous day, but this time he was aware that time had passed, so he must have slept as opposed to simply falling unconscious. 

The whole experience still had him shaken; he hadn’t blacked out like that since Merle had gotten him real fucked up on the night they’d buried their father. His face was in agony, he was fucking annoyed by the sheer improbability of it all, but most importantly, he reminded himself, he was alive.

All he really wanted was to rub the sleep from his eyes, and maybe drink an entire lake. Where was Paul? A low flood of panic crept through him as he tested the restraints. The smashing stopped.

“Daryl?”

Paul crossed the room quickly, set something down on the tray beside the cot, and leaned over him, searching his eyes until his stony expression melted with relief. 

“Good morning, sunshine. You alive in there?” 

Daryl nodded, tried to, at least. One blink for ‘yes.’

Paul looked completely wrecked with fatigue, which deepened the smile lines that creased his tired eyes. He gently removed the straps from his wrists and shoulders. His hands had a slight tremble to them as they smoothed Daryl’s hair out of his face and then laid a placating hand on his arm.

“Don’t move yet. It was cold enough to freeze last night, so I’ve got some ice chips; almost like a real hospital, right? Harlan was envious of the space you’ve got here. He’s finally down for a nap. Sasha brought your bike back for you, and once he checks you out again she’ll take him back to Hilltop, so don’t worry about Maggie. Here-”

Daryl swatted his hand away when it came at his face, and felt something warm, and wet. He tried to tell him to shut up for a minute, the only noise he produced was an angry snort. 

A hand laid on his chest, and Paul took a deep breath to slow himself. 

“I’m sorry—Daryl!” 

It felt like a piece of spaghetti slid out of his nose when he tore the wad of tape and gauze off his face. Paul cursed, and scrambled to find some tissues. He must have dislodged a clot; blood was running over his lips and down his neck onto the pillow. It moistened his tongue enough to speak.

“Sorry,” he sputtered, trying to keep some from spilling with his cupped hand and failing.

“It’s fine. Who needs blood? Hey, it’s ok. Hold this.” Paul moved Daryl’s hand to the fresh wad of tissue over his nose while he used the hot cloth to mop up as much blood from his neck and chin as he could. The sarcasm was laced with tension, and Daryl felt a little guilty, but he was grateful that Paul was at least trying to lighten the mood. He grasped Paul’s wrist, gently this time. 

Paul stopped, and met his eyes, falling silent for the first time since Daryl had woken up. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little, before combing Daryl’s bangs off the side of his face that wasn’t fucked to shit and pressing a long, gentle kiss to his temple. 

Once the bleeding had slowed again, he replaced the gauze in his nose and finished washing him up. With the bed adjusted, and Daryl sitting up a little, he was finally given his ice. 

 

The pain was pretty bad for most of the day, and Daryl was restless, with nothing to do aside from holding an ice pack to his face and taking breaks from holding an ice pack to his face. He only took the painkillers “wasted on him” after Paul had convinced him it was to keep the swelling down. He didn’t tell Daryl about the x-ray they’d also “wasted” to confirm a hairline fracture in the bridge of his nose. It would heal on its own, provided he skipped Jesus’ martial arts classes for the next week or two and avoided any vigorous headbutting. 

As the afternoon rolled on, visitors trickled in. He listened while Paul explained the unthinkable to Eric, who had come by with Aaron and a container of cold minestrone. He’d reached for it before they even had a chance to heat it up for him, and Harlan allowed him that as well, since it had been a few hours and he hadn’t thrown up the water he was eventually given. Tasting something other than blood immediately improved his mood.

To Daryl’s relief and mild annoyance, Aaron and Eric offered to watch with him while Jesus showered and took a nap. He didn’t need supervision to eat a goddamn bowl of soup, but Paul seemed to be running on fumes and he didn’t want to start anything. He had kind of missed the two of them and their quiet company was appreciated. 

For the remainder of the day, Harlan curtained him off and opened the clinic to the rest of the Alexandria Safe Zone. Once that wrapped up, he returned to Daryl’s side to check on him. His neck didn’t seem to be injured, and while Dr. Carson tried to convince the hunter to stay at Hilltop for his recovery, Daryl bartered for his stay on the promise he’d take it easy and bag him a duck or two once he was well again. 

Sasha dropped in to check up on Daryl, and also to let the doctor know that the car was ready. He gathered his things, getting ready to leave, but not before Paul pulled him into a tight hug and thanked him. 

After Paul returned, refreshed, to relieve Aaron and Eric, they had a lazy evening of napping and reading. Eugene was the first to show up when the cars rolled back in at dusk, and filled them both in on the highway haul. Tara and Rosita followed shortly, proudly showing off the half-dozen rabbits, cleaned and sealed in bags, that they’d collected from his traps. It was good to see Rosita smiling again. Michonne and Rick brought Judith. It became a bit of a noisy gathering, but it wasn’t hurting his head too much.

He permitted himself to doze to the warm chatter of his friends. He did his best to cling to consciousness, but their words drifted into abstraction and congealed into dreams with every slow blink. 

 

“Not asleep,” he mumbled, after they all left. Paul still closed the door as quietly as possible when he returned from the washroom, and offered to help him walk there. Aside from his face, which was a throbbing beacon of pain, and some dizziness, he was mostly just sore from being in bed for so long, but he didn’t turn down the assistance. Easier to let Jesus fuss over him than to get ahead of himself and end up on the floor.

His neck was stiff, and part of it was a little bit tender, but once Paul had herded him back into bed he insisted that he didn’t need to sleep with the brace on. It had actually been kind of comfortable, but he wanted the scout in bed with him, and being able to hold him for a little while was worth it. 

 

The next morning, they returned to the house he shared with Eugene, and Paul acted like he hardly recognized it. 

“You sure this is your house? Easy there.” Paul helped pull his boots off when he saw him struggling to kick them off his feet.

He grunted in lieu of thanks. “Yeah. Got bored.” 

Daryl was equally surprised. He’d forgotten he’d cleaned it; at least he’d done one thing that impressed Paul, even if it had only been to distract himself from Paul. Upstairs, his bag and crossbow were waiting on the floor next to his bed. Looking around, he saw that his vest had been hung on the closet door, but nothing else was out of place. 

Paul hung back in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself. Daryl looked to him, and it finally dawned on him that Paul hadn’t packed an overnight bag.

“Don’t haveta’ stay, Paul,” he muttered, staring down at the floor.

Paul gave him one of his sad yearning looks before dropping his head and wringing his knuckles with the opposite hand. 

“I could, though, right? Until I’m sure you can get around safely? I know you might want some privacy and space and that you don’t need my help, but just for me, so I don’t have to worry.”

“Stay, then.” Daryl gnawed at his lip pensively, almost wanting to pull the man into his arms and comfort him seeing him so uncertain. Instead, he just shrugged and softened a little. 

“If ya’ wanna’,” he added. “Don’t gotta’ ask me for that.”

Paul’s shoulders relaxed a little, padding across the room to pull him into a gentle hug, and the warmth of it felt good. Daryl quietly pressed his cheek against his soft hair, closing his eyes for a moment before Paul pulled away again. 

“Do you want to wash up? Rick came by while you were still asleep. He’ll probably want to see you later on, and I need to speak with him too. I just don’t want to go until I’m sure you’re ok.”

Daryl looked down at his bloodstained t-shirt. It was one of Aaron’s. 

“Yeah. Alright,” he gestured awkwardly toward the rest of his barren room, bed still made, “make yerself at home I guess.”

“Thanks. Call for me if you need any help in there,” Jesus smirked, even though he’d kind of meant it. Daryl glowered.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Once he’d got the water running and carefully crawled out of his clothes, he finally got a good long look at his injury. He really did look like shit, and when he laughed, it hurt. His right, no, left eye was black and swollen shut, the whites of it gone red. The other eye wasn’t quite as puffy, but had seen better days. He was almost relieved to know he looked as bad as he felt; maybe people would lay off him for being withdrawn, for once. It was no wonder Paul had been so worried.

 _Paul._ Shit. He was really not in any state to be hosting.

Strummed chords filtered in through the door, and if he listened carefully, Paul’s voice sang along, low and faltering in what Daryl assumed was an attempt to remain unheard. Daryl smiled a little and ran the shower hotter.

If he was being honest with himself, he’d been looking forward to having some time alone after the run. He knew Paul had his tasks at Hilltop to attend, and he was still very much attached to his own space. His family, ‘his’ garage, which was attached to Aaron and Eric’s home, the project he was about to wrap up, plus all of their future plans to restore and improve the place and make it safer and more self-sufficient, were still very familiar and comfortable parts of his life. 

Even though he hadn’t seen himself as fitting into that future, he’d become invested in it. For the sake of his family, for Rick and Michonne and Carl and Judith, for everyone who’d found sanctuary here with their loved ones, they deserved a place they could call home.

Maybe he did, too, and the notion that ‘home’ might just be wherever Paul was had somehow taken root in him.

As much as he missed Paul when they weren’t together, they needed more time to figure it out. To create more space for one another in their lives. Now that he thought about it, he was probably sore from the defence class; it felt like ages ago. The hot water felt good on his aching muscles as he rubbed the stiffness from his legs. 

While he towelled off, Paul had already helped himself to a hole-ridden t-shirt and worn joggers, and settled onto his bed with a book he recognized as one of Eugene’s. He swallowed thickly while Paul dog-eared the page and closed his book, unsure of how to say what he wanted to. 

“How are you feeling?” The glint of the window caught the corners of Paul’s wide eyes when he looked up, flooding them blue with concern.

“Alright.” He staggered a bit after pulling on his boxers, and had to brace himself on the wall against the surge of dizziness. 

“No!” 

He hadn’t meant to shout when Paul jumped out of bed to help him, and the scout froze in place, looking alarmed.

“Said ‘m fine,” he lied, darkness and sparks swimming at the edges of his vision. His head swelled with pain, but slowly the pressure subsided.

“Okay, you just-” 

“I got it.” He straightened up and draped his damp towel over his shoulders, then opened his closet to find another shirt. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. I get it.” The scout raised his hands in compliance, backing away.  
He sighed as he sat back on the edge of the bed, glancing out the window to gauge the daylight; it was windy and grey and felt later than it actually was. 

Paul had claimed his favourite slouchwear, but he didn’t want to make a fuss about it. None of his other t-shirts were as soft and worn, but he settled on a plain heather grey undershirt with a single faded bloodstain dribbled down the front to match his current situation. He really didn’t have it in him to find any pants, and gave in to the magnetic pull of bed.

“What’s this?” A couple of pills waited on Daryl’s night stand in a shot glass, next to a tall glass of vomit or something. Paul turned to look at him over his shoulder. He looked tired.

“Pain and inflammation, and a protein shake. You need to stay in bed for a few days, until the swelling starts to go down. That’s the good shit; Tara insisted.” The scout’s tone was guarded. He pulled on his fingers and flexed his knuckles, popping a couple of them, eyes on Daryl, who recognized it as something he only did under stress.

Daryl felt sick just thinking about swallowing his pride, about being hovered over while he was laid out doing nothing, but he took a deep breath to calm himself. Stillness no longer came easily to him.

“Please, Daryl. Don’t make me make you, because I will.” 

Paul was a lot more intimidating when he spoke quietly. Daryl eyed him, tipped the tablets onto his tongue, then drained some sludge from the glass. Strawberry. At least it might still taste alright if it came back up.

 

He dozed through the rest of the day, only waking once it was dark to eat. When he settled back into bed, he didn’t feel like sleeping, electing to gaze at his partner instead. Each beat of his heart echoed as a slight painful throb in his skull. He didn’t care. It took a few minutes for Paul to speak, eyes not leaving the page.

“You’re not asleep.” His sweet lips quirked a little before he flicked his thumb over his tongue and turned the page. 

“I’m restin’.”

“You’re staring.” Daryl could see that he’d stopped scanning the text on the page, and while his face was stony, amusement lurked behind his eyes.

“Yer beautiful.”

That pulled a slow, serious look from the scout. 

“How’s your head?” he asked, cheeks red, returning to the half-read page. 

“It’s Fine. Shit,” he mumbled, and rolled away to sulk at the ceiling. It didn’t hurt too much if he kept still. He remembered how badly the bruising had looked in the mirror, and wondered if Paul was disgusted by it. He wished he wasn’t laying to his messed-up side. He couldn’t seem to stop touching the puffy, bruised areas. His cheek, brow and nose were tender, but his mouth felt fine. He was suddenly immensely grateful he hadn’t knocked out all his teeth.

Paul put the book away and laid down on his side, tucking one arm under his pillow and trawling his fingernails lightly down Daryl’s arm to interlock hands. 

Daryl looked over at him, tired, sore and torn. He wanted to be alone, but at the same time was grateful he wasn’t, afraid that Paul would never come back should he ask him for space. _If you love him, let him go._ He loathed the truth in the saying.

“Don’t gotta stay. I know you’ve got shit to do.”

Paul blinked, melancholy washing over him. He swallowed, looking down at their hands and rubbing his thumb over Daryl’s.

“I know. I can’t. Winter’s coming, and I need to be there. I feel responsible; for Maggie, for the transition without Gregory, to keep an eye on everything, to be their runner between here and the Kingdom. I’ll be by often enough.” 

Daryl nodded. He’d known this was coming. It was hard to believe they’d gone so far in so little time, and he could already feel the void that Paul would leave in his wake. Paul sighed and scooted closer, until his warmth blanketed Daryl’s side. He felt the scout’s breath against his shoulder, and it calmed him, reminding him to breathe as well. 

“What about us? We can’t keep… y’know.” he waved his hand back and forth, in the direction of Hilltop, implying the road trips, the waste of gas, the risk of death that came with each foray into the wild, just to visit one another. He felt his palm growing sweaty in Paul’s, which tightened before pulling away. The scout raised himself up on an elbow, leaning over him, reaching across to brush the hair off his good eye and cupping his cheek.

“Daryl, do you want to move in with me? With us? For the winter, at least? I’m not just asking for myself, and if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I’ll still be yours. I just hope you know you’re welcome to come stay with me. Maggie would like that, too.” 

The apprehension in the hunter’s face softened. Daryl gave him a tiny nod. He’d been planning to stay anyways, but didn’t know how to ask. Now he didn’t have to. He smiled.

“I’d like that.” 

“Really? You mean it?” Paul’s enthusiasm slowly became contagious as it took him over, every joyful line of his face subtly livening and reflected in the tight pull that curved Daryl’s mouth.

“Yeah. Not right away. Need a week or two, settle some things.” 

Paul raised his eyebrows. “You’ve mentioned these ‘things’. Might I ask what?”

Daryl’s good eye narrowed fondly. “Got an idea. Probably won’t happen, but if it does, it’ll be a surprise.”

Paul decided he could live with that answer. He moved in to kiss him as gently as possible, and felt Daryl’s hand slide through his hair to hold him there. They lingered, lips pressed together, but the kiss remained chaste. Paul inhaled suddenly and broke away. 

“Shit.”

“What?” Daryl snorted at the bashful way Jesus turned his head away.

“This is just… new.” The scout was beaming. He wanted to say more, but he didn’t want to break the spell; everything was perfect as it was. Scary-perfect.

Daryl let his hand slide from Paul’s hair, drawing the strands through his fingers as he dropped his arm to the bed. 

Paul laughed to himself, dropping his head, face red as a beet. He rolled out of bed, pulled the curtains back from the window to look out at the street. 

Snow tumbled down in clumps as thick as marshmallows, stark white against the darkened streets.

“I knew it.”

“How?” 

“Knee’s been acting up all day.” 

Daryl had a speculative stare pinned on him when he turned away from the window. 

“My Gran had that. What are ya’, ninety?” 

Paul caught his little smile when he glared, and laughed. He stretched his arms over his head and strode into the open space of the room, going through a few quick stretches before laying on the floor to do some slow crunches. 

Daryl idly marvelled at his confidence, unsure why he found the idea of exercising in front of someone embarrassing. It wasn’t like Paul was trying to show off; just comfortable and bored enough to be himself in Daryl’s presence. He couldn’t imagine himself doing that, ever.

“Didja’ fuck it up or somethin’? Wouldn’t be surprised, what with you knowin’ all that karate shit.”

“I’m not as young as I look, you know,” he puffed, “and yeah, learning that ‘karate shit’ wasn’t easy. Breaking my leg taught me a lot about my limits. It’s healed up fine, it just _knows_.” 

Daryl snorted, turned away, gazing out at the ghostly white puffballs falling from the dark sky while Paul huffed away at his exercises. Beneath the threadbare shirt, his cut physique was hard to ignore, stirring up the sort of excitement he did not need in his current state.

“Could ya’ pass my bag over?” Daryl had waited until he got up to ask.

Paul brought it to him and he fished out his tobacco to roll a cigarette. He scooted stiffly to the side of the bed, across from the window. He lit up, and Paul pushed the window open before taking a seat next to him, sweaty and hot and still slightly out of breath. Together they watched the snow, shoulder to shoulder, the smoke drifting along an invisible current to the top of the window and out into the cold night. 

“Y’ain’t goin’ nowhere if this keeps up.” 

Paul laughed distantly, melting into the warmth of Daryl’s side. He leaned against him, his long hair pooling on the hunter’s shoulder as his head settled there. 

“If Rick goes, I’m going with. There was still a lot of rooting to do in some of the cars they couldn’t get running. Now that the way’s clear, he and Michonne want to scope out that leisure centre again, see if it’s been hit by anyone else yet. Was hoping to tag along, score you some smokes,” he huffed wryly, chewing his lip. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. This was nice.” Daryl turned the cigarette he had between his fingers before returning it to his lips. He put his arm around Paul’s back. He didn’t have to look to know he was lost in thoughts he didn’t want to interrupt. In addition to the smoke coating his tongue, the thought of being left behind left a bad taste in his mouth.

The time between the accident and the present was still filtering back to him in blurbs and flashes. He vaguely remembered Rick mentioning there being something strange about the pile-up yesterday; something about people having been there recently, how they’d moved some of the shit they’d put together and left behind, but hadn’t taken anything. It left him with an uneasy dread. 

He didn’t want people getting complacent, didn’t want Paul out there looking for stupid shit just for an excuse to give him stuff. He didn’t want anyone doing much of anything if he couldn’t be out there to protect them, make sure everything got split up fairly. 

If he was really honest with himself, he didn’t want Paul going to that rec centre without him; that was _supposed_ to be his and Jesus’ run. He’d been looking forward to it, almost like a date night he’d assumed they’d just unconsciously agreed upon, some treasure buried in their future. Losing that almost stung worse than bruised flesh of his face. 

He briefly considered going with, but he’d almost blacked out in the shower, which was something he still didn’t care to share with Paul. His neck was real stiff and sore. He could handle the pain but without a full range of motion, he’d be no good to anyone. Relaxing, trusting people to be good, to stay safe, to come back to him, that was hard, even though they hadn’t let him down yet. He had to consciously remind himself to keep those worries at bay. 

Things happened unexpectedly, though, typically the moment people grew confident and bold. He couldn’t let down his guard, not when they were out in the open, and he most definitely could never live with himself if someone ended up with a knife in the back because they thought they were safe enough to root around for something as pointless and indulgent as a carton of cigarettes. 

“Kinda wanna’ try an’ quit,” tumbled out of his mouth before he could re-think it.

That moved Paul upright, bright eyes scrupulous on his. 

“Don’t you go getting my hopes up, Dixon,” he implored, his mouth set in a straight and stern line. His lips were always too pink for Daryl to find him threatening; somehow it was always Paul’s serious face that brought out his own cheeky smile.

“Don’t gotta’ buy my love,” he muttered to the stub between his fingers, before stretching across to smash it out on the sill.

When he leaned back and turned to Paul, his stunning stare froze him in place. Paul slowly reached out, grasped his collar, drew him closer and carefully kissed him. 

 

Daryl was feeling exceptionally good after his bedtime dose. 

Paul had assured him they had more than enough medication, and that helping him rest and heal was precisely their intended use. 

Daryl, in his own sultry, barely audible way, informed him that it still counted as rest if Paul was on top. That seemed to cheer him up immensely, earning a long languid kiss as Paul stretched out against the length of his body. 

After half a dozen reassurances that it wasn’t hurting him, Paul settled astride his hips, working him up with one hand while preparing himself with the other. Daryl sucked his tongue and Paul moaned into his mouth as the light touch left him hard and hungry. His hips bucked when he felt teeth, and Paul breathed another lusty kiss against his neck before pulling his knees beneath him and rising off him, sitting back atop his thighs. 

Daryl watched him fish some items from the drawer that he definitely hadn’t put there himself. Paul’s eyes met his as he nipped the packet and peeled it open, with a serious look that always made his heart skip a beat. 

“Relax, babe, I got it.” Paul whispered, brushing Daryl’s nervous hands away and rolling the condom onto him. 

Daryl moaned. It felt weird, and kind of good. 

“Oh.” Paul crinkled his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

Paul sniffed his hand, before inspecting the wrapper in the dim light. 

“Shit. I thought this was watermelon,” he whined.

Daryl narrowed his good eye at the bright pink membrane wrapped around him before snatching the wrapper from Paul for a whiff. He winced.

“Smells like cough syrup.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope this washes off,” he mused, squeezing more lube from a bottle into his palm. 

“It better,” Daryl muttered, immediately distracted by the tight hand smoothing the lubricant over him. He let his head ease back into the pillow, releasing a needy sigh. His whole body had a warm cottony feel from the medication, the pain in his head easy enough to ignore with the blissful sensation of Paul’s touch to distract from it. It felt a lot different with the condom and the lube, possibly better than just spit. 

Paul held him still while he moved into position above him. He leaned down to kiss him softly, then sank down onto him carefully until their bodies met. His hands smoothed lightly over the hunter’s neck and broad shoulders, moving the man’s indecisive hands to rest on his thighs. He began to lift off him again, rising and falling into a slow rhythm. 

Daryl moaned and bit his lip, smoothing up Paul’s strong thighs to grasp at his ass, testing his own mobility with a slight roll of his hips. It was still a little too much strain, and Paul must have noticed him flinch. 

“Careful, Daryl,” he whispered. “Just watch me.”

Daryl did so, quietly awestruck as Paul rode him to his own completion. He was so close for the duration, but just couldn’t come, not because of the rubber but any time he got too close his head throbbed painfully in protest. He didn’t care, really; he’d be damned if Paul’s climax wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt. After holding him close and stroking his silky hair through the aftershocks, Daryl silenced his spent apologies with a kiss. 

 

Only one of their trucks had all-season tires, but the snow had stopped overnight, leaving them with an even two inches; not deep enough to get them stuck, but still making things slippery. 

“I’ll see you Monday, okay?” Paul’s eyes were trained on his good one, which Daryl appreciated. 

“Yeah. Take care.” 

He knocked his hand gently into Paul’s and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek; Paul’s face flushed red in its wake, tucking his hair behind his ear and giving him a shy smile before hopping up into the vehicle. 

“Go back to bed,” he said, and Daryl flipped him off as the truck rolled out the gate. 

Eugene closed it after them, and after watching through the cracks until the car was out of sight, Daryl approached him, looking somewhat deflated.

“You have any luck with those parts?”

The engineer’s eyes widened at their mention. 

“Ready for inspection, Dixon. I had Aaron leave them in your shop.” 

“‘Kay. Appreciate it.” Daryl thanked him with a nod, and turned to go, but Eugene tailed him.

“No need to thank me; it was a good opportunity to single out a viable process for future castings.” He carried on about the masters, molds, fluxes, and the potential to repair all kinds of things. Daryl’s head was kind of pounding by the time they got to the garage, and Eugene was courteous enough to haul the door up for him without missing a beat. 

The new parts were laid out on the workbench, and Daryl turned one over in his hand, marvelling at the high shine perfection Eugene had produced. He looked up to the man, who awkwardly tried to explain away any flaws he assumed Daryl would find.

“Now, I did modify them minutely to account for wear on the originals, but I can grind them down and buff them out in no time; just about nothin’ you can’t do with an edge grinder, and I liberated some of the spare attachments from the shop for any requisite modifications.” 

He finally braved Daryl’s piercing stare, and the way he shrank from it made Daryl want to just grab him shake him. He smirked.

“They’re good, man. Seamless. Couldn’t’ve done it myself. Let’s see if it runs.”

He flipped the canvas off the reconstructed bike, tools waiting on a rag beneath it for this very moment. It would have only taken a few minutes to put everything into place, but Eugene had a hundred and one questions, and Daryl was more than willing to lecture him about motors and how to repair them. Once finished, he wheeled it out to the driveway to start it up.

Eugene stood and observed while the engine roared to life, was cut to some mild cussing, and after another ten minutes of oiling, filing and tinkering, Daryl seemed satisfied with the rumble it produced. 

He got on and took it for a spin around the block, rolled back up into the driveway a minute later and cut the engine at Eugene’s feet. He got off and rubbed a hand over his jaw as he gave it one last once-over and a satisfied sniff. 

“Tempted to swap out the old ones from my own bike. We’ll check for wear in a week or two, make sure there’s no cracks or rusting. Sounds good, though.”

Eugene nodded coolly. “Glad I could be of service, Dixon.”

“Alright. You get on, tell me if the seat’s good. Got a narrower one.” 

Eugene complied, settling comfortably onto the leather and wrapping his substantial hands around the handlebars. He shrugged. 

“Seems ideal for someone my height, but I’m not exactly the most experienced rider. Who’s it for?”

Daryl held the keys out to him.

Eugene stared at the keys, then up to Daryl, and back at the keys again before slowly reaching out to accept them. He swallowed.

“Why me? After everything?”

Who else? Daryl thought. 

Eugene had been withdrawn since the war, reserved, ashamed. Daryl didn’t think ill of him for being a coward, not anymore; he wasn’t like Gregory. He was starting to see, more clearly than ever, that not everyone could be a Glenn Rhee. The saviors would have easily broken him, and he could understand someone like Eugene succumbing to even a whiff of that pressure after seeing their doctor thrown into a furnace. It bothered him sometimes that Eugene took their praise as genuine, baffled him that he trusted any of them, and even felt amiable loyalty toward some of their people, but he wasn’t going to try to disprove it by being critical of the guy.

If anything, they had failed Eugene. Taken him for granted, kept him at a distance, allowed him to be used and treated poorly. He’d had no reason to believe Rick would fight Negan when he was taken, but he’d still done everything he could to help when the time came. Not everyone was willing to trust him again, but Daryl saw him differently. He would trust Eugene, not because he deserved it, but to give him the chance to earn it. 

It was a chance he’d given to men far worse than the reclusive engineer. He chewed his lip, eyes dropping to the pavement and back up to Eugene’s as he stepped away minutely.

“Cause. Yer skilled, smart. Ought be out there buildin’ the next world, not crankin’ out ammo so us idiots can keep tearin’ each other up.”

Eugene stared across the handlebars, choking up a little as he looked over the bike beneath him. He shook his head.

“Not sure why any of you ever helped me to start with. I’ve been a liar, a coward, and a traitor. I was sure I’d be left for dead, the moment I admitted there was no cure. I didn’t deserve him, or any of you, and I don’t deserve this either, Daryl.” 

Daryl had never wanted to choke someone more. Not just for the self-deprecating bullshit, but for how it made him wonder if he’d sound this pathetic airing his own self-hatred. It was sad. He shook his head.

“Hell, man. Findin’ a cure would’nta’ brought no one back. Just gotta keep tryin’ and do what ya’ can.”

Eugene took a deep breath, nodding before dismounting. “It’s a fine machine, sir, and I’m more than happy to provide my services in whatever way might help. What exactly is it you have in mind, Dixon?”

Daryl scratched his head, not sure now that he thought about it. He faced a dilemma knowing that whether he were to stay with Paul or Rick, either way he’d be worried about the other. He shrugged, tucking his rag back into his pocket.

“Phones? Radio? Somethin’. Figure you’re thinkin’ on it already, but you’re gonna need to get around on your own when you can. We got two--well, more like six, now, communities, all cut off from one another, some more hostile than others. We gotta’ protect one another. Can’t get out and help ‘em if we don’t know what’s goin’ on.”

“Right. Rick’s brought it up, and thinkin’s what I’ve been doing. While I’m close to repairing the long-wave broadcaster, it would be better suited as a back-up to a wired connection. It is possible, but it would require some ground work to repair the lines, thanks to the Saviors downing half the poles for their road block stunt; an infrastructural sacrifice that would not have flown under my supervision, I’ll have you know,” he muttered dourly, pulling a pencil and notebook from the bulky pocket of his cargo shorts, still addressing Daryl but furrowing down at the cogs turning in his head.

“If we’re talking widespread network restoration, there’s the endeavour of locating, repairing and powering various service points in the telephony. We had—Negan’s men and myself, of course—scouted some of the locales from the municipal bureau’s records, however much of it had been trashed in the outbreak and subsequent hooliganry. Add to that any potential interaction with the dead ones will be requiring assistance, as I’m still not comfortably skilled on that front. This unit you’ve provided will certainly provide me with a speedy escape in the event of an encounter, and I do thank you muchly for that.” He squinted, scanning the checklist he’d scrawled out, then stared off in thought.

“We’ll cover ya’ when ya’ need it. What about just between here an’ Hilltop? Don’t gotta get things back to what they used ta’ be, just be nice not to have to watch the skies for smoke signals, or worry about someone listenin’ in on the radios.”

“Well, if we put network restoration on hold, that definitely simplifies matters. A full restore could potentially save any pockets of survivors who’ve been cut off from the rest of us, which I’d like to assume is the ultimate goal here. I suppose that, using the existing infrastructure, we could jury-rig an intercom and focus our efforts on direct lines branching out from there. We’ll have to isolate the circuit, get an approximate measurement of the cable distance while we survey for any damage that might be disrupting the connection. With that, we can approximate the wire resistance, wire in a couple of phones, power it up, and we’ll be good as gravy.” 

“That easy, huh? Shoulda’ done this a while ago,” Daryl mused, watching as Eugene bent down in silence, carried away on a train of thought, resting his notepad on the bike seat to sketch out a diagram. 

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” Eugene mumbled, snapping his journal shut and standing to meet his gaze. “I need to dig up some functions. It’s been a few years since my electronics courses. See what parts I’ve got that we can use, and, well. Thank you, Dixon. For—this,” he gestured, to the bike, “and for giving me a chance to help. It’s appreciated,” he added, quietly.

Daryl nodded. “It’s nothin’, man. You lost someone too,” he mumbled, patting the man’s arm before being engulfed in a tight and teary embrace. He rubbed Eugene’s back for a moment or two before he finally pulled away.

Without another word, he nodded to the hunter and walked stiffly down the street, scanning the pages of his notebook on his way to Deanna’s library. 

Cautiously hopeful, Daryl ran a hand over the chrome of the handlebar in a silent farewell to his machine before rolling it back into the garage. He pulled the door shut behind him. His head was pounding, and with that out of the way he was eager to rest.

 

________

 

“ _Alexandria._ Seems like an ill-fated place for a library.”

“How so? Hilltop’s built out a’ wood all the same.”

“You think lightning won’t strike twice?”

“Law of averages-“

“-a gambler’s fallacy.”

Daryl pinned him with a quiet stare as a dark oil slick of otherworldly clouds swirled in the sky above. He felt a bewildering mix of bliss and sadness that he couldn’t explain.

 

That morning, the dream followed him around through the morning’s chores until it felt more like a memory. He felt silly, missing Daryl as much as he did. Lunch with Maggie, Sasha and Enid was a welcome distraction; one of their first together in a while. There’d been breakfasts, suppers, but it was rare that they all found time to congregate at noon, and it was pleasant, just the three of them. They had a fresh supply of tea, something Jesus was always happy to find on his runs, and they baked some scones to go with.

Apparently they’d been waiting for the chance to get him alone. Cornered, he was consequently being quizzed about everything that had happened between him and Daryl beyond the obvious, Maggie the most incredulous of the bunch, long accustomed to his solitary tendencies. 

“I mean, I did tell you to try, but I didn’t mean _that night_. You’d just met him, how'd you even know he was a good guy?”

Jesus’ brows lifted. “I didn’t, really; that wasn’t exactly what interested me, at first,” he laughed. And now he was thinking back to the night Daryl had slept outside the trailer, back when everything was still raw and wrong. It felt ridiculous, in hindsight, giving him the very shirt off his back, but not wanting the beautiful sad man to freeze to death felt like a solid enough excuse at the time.

Maggie kicked him under the table, eyes crinkling warmly. 

Enid scoffed. “Gross.”

Paul laughed, dropped his head and cleared his throat. 

“But, he is, isn’t he? A really good person? He seems so selfless, without even trying, like it’s his first instinct. Like when he got out of the Sanctuary, and we rode here? I mean, that ride was eye-watering. I’d met walkers who smelled better. He was exhausted, drifted onto the shoulder a few times. We stopped halfway so I could get in front.” 

There was a pained waver in his laugh, no humour behind it, more just a noise he made because thinking of Daryl in that state again made him so uncomfortable. He caught Maggie’s bittersweet gaze and continued, quieter. 

“Even after everything they put him through, he ran himself that ice cold bath. So we wouldn’t waste the fuel.” 

At that, she looked down at her cup, swirling the loose-leaf puddle gone cool. 

“He’s a real sweetheart. Still don’t know much about who he was before, but when I first met him, well. My dad, Hershel, he wasn’t too impressed at first. But he cooled off a bit, at least once Shane was out of the picture. He’s warmed up to us, grown up a lot. Changed so much in just a couple years. We all have, but Daryl was more like a stray at first.”

“A stray?”

“Yeah. Feral-like. He always kept his distance, wary of trustin’ anyone let alone lookin’ them in the eye, and quick to snap if he didn’t agree with somethin’. But, he kept us fed. He knew how to survive well enough, how to fight. Had to teach him some things.”

Paul felt his heart sink, imagining Daryl being more shy than he already was. “Like?”

Maggie laughed a little, catching Sasha’s amiable smile. 

“Things like manners? Just gettin’ along in a group was hard for him, unless it’s a brawl. At first I thought he was actually tryin’ ta’ be rude, always eatin’ alone, tryin’ not to look at anyone, like he wanted to be intimidating or mysterious or somethin’. Made me think he might just drop us if he found a better crew to hang with. Took a minute to realise he just didn’t know how.” She shrugged.

“He still won’t hold his fork right,” Enid said.

“Be happy he uses one at all,” Sasha replied.

Jesus smiled ruefully down at his empty plate, fingers threaded around his cup to soak up the heat from the tea. “He seems fine to me.”

“He is. He’s always cared for us, even if he wasn’t too talkative. His temper’s improved. And he’s honest, loyal. He’s trying.” 

“I don’t know, seems like he’s been on his best behaviour since he started getting close to Jesus,” Sasha offered, her smile shifting to him. 

“Yeah, he gets all soft around you,” Enid remarked smugly, focused on the bracelet she was braiding while the others giggled. 

Jesus felt himself flush at that, and all the anxiety he’d been harbouring about the letter he left came over him at once. He prayed that Daryl would somehow miss it, but no, his own dramatic ass would have to wonder and wait for days to know. Weeks, maybe.

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

Maggie’s question made him look up from his miasma of embarrassment and nerves, and he took a deep breath. “Whenever he’s healed up, I guess. I know he’ll want to be here for you, whether or not he likes it here.” 

“Should have let you keep the trailer,” she smirked. 

Paul shrugged. “It’s nice to be inside. It’ll be warm, dry. If he really needs the privacy he might just sleep out there anyways.” He stood, clearing the plates. He had some chores to invent.

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Maggie replied. 

Sasha took the dishes from her and told her to rest. 

 

________

 

He hadn’t realised how spent he was until his back hit the mattress, and it sapped the last of his strength to drain the glass next to his bed. Despite the whirlwind of thoughts now settling in his head, Daryl didn’t find it hard to drift off once the painkillers were in his system. When he awoke to day three’s full-body ache, pounding sinuses, and a blood-soaked pillow, it truly hit him just how stupid it would have been to try to go with them the day prior—had been stupid just to leave his bed. 

It also hit him just how much he wished he’d asked Paul to stay. His neck was rigid with pain and his head throbbed, and after slurping from the faucet at an uncomfortable angle he managed to get the medication down and spend the rest of the morning napping and munching jerky straight from the bag. 

Eugene poked his head in around noon to update him on the plans he’d been drawing up. After ignoring everything he said, Daryl bluntly asked him to go tell Rick, who showed up mercifully soon afterwards to ask how he was doing. He was holding a box.

“Been better,” he croaked. 

Rick handed him the bottled water he was carrying. Re-used bottles, of course, filled with Alexandria’s own filtered water, mildly brackish with an earthy hint of fish tank. Body temperature, but clean enough not to kill you too fast. 

“Thanks.” Daryl couldn’t be bothered to lift his head from the pillow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after draining it. 

Rick walked around the bed to the chair by the window and moved the ash tray to the sill before setting the box down. From it, he revealed a helmet, and held it out for Daryl to take. 

“From yesterday’s run. Hit that convenience store you told us about, one in the sports centre; the parking lot alone was a goldmine.”

Daryl looked at it and then him like he was being offered dog shit before snatching it. Rick wondered if the sneer was intentional. It faded as Daryl looked the thing over.

“Almost lost you to a freak accident, not gonna let you die out of stubbornness.” 

“Appreciate it.” Daryl set the thing down at his side and closed his eyes, thinking it might actually be wearable thanks to the cold. Something heavy hit the bed that lifted his head from the pillow again.

“Jesus sent it. I came by yesterday, but you weren’t around.”

Daryl squinted at the sealed box of nicotine-infused chewing gum and then tossed it back on the covers with an amused huff. “Helmet was his idea too, wasn’t it.”

“You didn’t hear it from me.” He was already tossing the bloody tissues and trash from his floor into the empty box, and Daryl heard him going about the room tidying, looking things over, blatantly dawdling as though he wasn’t sure how to bring up whatever it was he wanted to. 

“Find anything else?” Daryl hoped to get the ball rolling so he could go back to sleeping.

“From the cars? Camping, survival gear, mostly, few toiletries, clothes. Store was your typical high-fructose cornucopia, should get us through the winter.” He cleared his throat. “Your—uh, Jesus claimed one of the cars. Said his truck would be safer for Maggie, that he didn’t need all the extra seats.” 

Daryl peeked out his good eye at him. “Which one?”

“Asked me not to tell. Probably wants to clean it up so he can show it off himself.” Rick had laid the guitar case on the foot of the bed, snapping the latches up to have a look. “Claimed this too, didn’t he?” 

“Mhm. Keeps leavin’ it for me ta’ trip over.”

“Smells…” Rick sniffed and shook his head, and a broad smirk crept over Daryl’s face.

“Somebody used the case to bring a bong home. Ain’t no snitch, officer.” His foot wagged playfully as he settled himself again.

Rick’s incredulous face almost made him laugh. When lifted the guitar from the case, a folded piece of paper fell out onto the bed. He picked it up, turned it over, then looked to Daryl and flicked it onto his chest. Daryl held it aloft and squinted, finding his name scrawled in Paul’s writing. He could see the dense wordage within through the paper, and looked up to Rick, genuinely lost. 

“Love letter?” Rick teased.

“Gotta be kiddin’ me,” he growled, face red. He glared at Rick as he tucked it into his pocket. “Next time you drop by I’m askin’ to see a warrant.”

“I’m sorry, Daryl. Just wanted to make sure you’re doin’ alright.” Rick shrugged apologetically as he put the instrument away before looking to Daryl for a reply. 

“I’m fine,” he said, patting the bed for Rick to sit so he wasn’t just standing there.

He seemed hesitant but accepted, stiffly, resting his elbows on his knees. He paused for a moment, knuckles brushing knuckles in thought.

“Eugene told me about what you did for him, and why. I just want to say thank you, for making that happen.”

Daryl shrugged. “Said you’d already asked him to start on it.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah, I might’ve mentioned it in passing, but you lit a fire under him, and got the ball rolling. Got a plan now and everything, got Ezekiel’s people working on it too.”

The hunter felt relieved at that, exhaling and settling into the mattress with his eyes shut. “That’s good to hear.”

“Carol sent some cookies. Forgot them in the truck. Didn’t bother telling her about your accident, since you weren’t about to die or anything.”

Daryl smiled, eyes shut, before opening his eyes to the ceiling and swallowing the lump in his throat. “You know I’m goin’, right? Soon as I’m well.” Daryl wished he had an arrow or something to fidget with, so he picked up the helmet again, idly sliding the visor open and shut with a wary glance in Rick’s direction. 

Rick stared at him, the troubled ache visible behind his blue eyes. He nodded at that, too, looking down at the floor and picking up the box of trash to take his leave. “You’ll call, right?”

Daryl smiled, a small laugh puffed out of him. “That was the plan.”

 

________

 

_Daryl,_

_It might be weird for me to be writing this. Is it? I'm not very good at these things. Please don't think this is a break-up letter. I hope it isn't._

_I'm sorry about last night. It's hard to imagine you had a good time, so thank you for that. Every intimate moment we've had has been something I'll cherish to the end of my days._

_As I write this, you're still asleep and it's hard not to watch. You are truly the most beautiful person I've ever met, inside and out, even with your face all fucked up. I hope you let that sink in._

_I know this is all still new to you. Not that I can tell. You always seem confident, even when your hands are shaking, but I’m still not sure what's going on in your head. I keep meaning to talk to you, but I never want to spoil the moment; it already feels like I say too much. I wish I was as cool as you. I try. Probably way too hard._

_Daryl, who am I to you? What are we? I need to know, because I've never had someone like you in my life. I've never felt this way about anyone._

_What we have right now, what I think we have, it's everything. I couldn’t ask for more. Just to have you close fills me with so much joy and comfort that it frightens me._

_I won't ladle on some hyperbolic BS about how you complete me; I'm fine. I was happy with myself, by myself before we met, and I was sure I'd remain that way for the rest of this dire and treacherous life. If you're not sure about this, about me, I won't regret a moment spent with you. I don't remember having one to give, let alone handing it over, but it seems my heart is in your hands._

_What I'm trying to say is that I love you. I'll never stop loving you._

_It's distracting. Right now, I'm a bit of an insecure mess about all this. I can never trust my own feelings; I want to, but I've been wrong too many times, and it always hurts. This is new to me, and so I trust you to tell me if I'm wrong to assume that we're committed to each other. If you don't feel the same way, we need to end this now. You're so much more to me than a hook-up, and I just can't do that to myself again. You'll have your own space at Hilltop, as I know you'll want to be there for Maggie, and you will always be my dearest friend._

_I won't make you say it, please don't think that you ever have to. I won't be coming back to Alexandria, as much as I know I'll want to turn around five minutes out the gate. I'll leave our next meeting up to you. I want you to heal, and I want to give you the space to really think about it._

_If you do feel the same, then I'll be damned if I ever leave your side again._

_Yours always,  
Paul_

_p.s. while I’m in a confessional mood, I can't handle surprises so I started snooping around and I hope that bike isn't for me because I'd rather have my arms around you_

He snorted. There was a quarter-sized spot where ink blurred and paper buckled. Daryl smoothed it over and re-folded it. He harnessed the urge to ball it up and throw it at the wall, and set it on the table beside the bottle of pills that he swatted, scattering them across his bedroom floor. He flicked the light off and chewed his lip in the dark.

“Prick.”

His breathing unsteady, Daryl wasn’t sure why he wanted to throw up. He told himself he was mainly upset because someone, at some point, had probably taught Paul to doubt himself. Frustrated that he had to wait so long to tell him, he gave in to a quick jag before steadying his breaths and willing himself to rest and heal. 

He read it one more time, and felt a little better. When he focused on the loving parts he almost choked on the excitement. 

_I’ll never stop loving you._

Yeah, that part was relatable, and made his heart feel warm. It was still hard for him to fall asleep, until he remembered he’d be waking up to cookies, and then it really wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about bikes or literally anything I just wanted some hurt/comfort fluff please accept this humble turd


	10. For We Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok just for u

He wasn’t sure if he would survive day three. Or was it four? His throat was raw from snoring, sinuses still blocked and swollen, and if not for the deafening thirst he wouldn’t have moved at all. Even the cold dull light that strained through the blinds was a throbbing assault. 

His body was stiff from sleeping for too long, even the brief walk to the washroom was unkind. He slid to the floor with his water in hand and took the nearest pill he could reach, then remained on the floor feeling his mental and emotional state slowly unravel until Tara found him there and helped him back into bed. 

She gathered the rest of the pills from the rug as quickly as possible, placed it next to the folded letter and plate of bloodied tissues, then crossed her arms and watched him with a smug and patient smile. 

The folds in the heavy quilt beneath him cut uncomfortably across his back. His faraway gaze remained through the wall past his feet, not sure what she expected him to say after the 'thanks' he croaked.

She huffed into a more relaxed state. “No worries,” she said as she straightened the quilt beneath him with one strong pull. “Did you eat yet? It’s almost three.”

Daryl’s stomach answered for him with a high-pitched mewl. Ten minutes later he had a bowl of hot oatmeal with strawberries and blueberries, and she was propping herself against the headboard next to him. Stray hairs clung to her moist forehead and she ate from her own handful of berries, enjoying the first good sit since she came off duty.

He ate slowly in silence. Maybe he was supposed to ask questions or something, but his brain was not in any mood to perform, and she was one of the few friends he didn't feel put-up around.

Looking over once he set his bowl down, Tara had her eyes closed, and looked about ready to doze off. 

"Long day?"

She took a deep breath, fending off slumber and rolled her head towards him to gaze fondly. There was definitely something stewing, and Daryl immediately grew uneasy, hoping Rick hadn’t mentioned anything about the letter. 

“Yep." 

She let that simmer for a minute before pulling herself back to the present. 

"How about you. Think you’ll live?”

He shrugged. He felt better, now that he'd eaten, he mostly just felt sore and weak. He swallowed his bite, and nodded. 

“Yeah. Feels less shitty. Just tired.”

Her Cheshire smile remained unrelenting, which annoyed him. He'd thought they were past the coy stage when it came to her digging for gossip on him and Paul.

“Spill it.”

“Rosita kissed me.”

Daryl blinked and looked up, and actually fumbled and barely caught his cereal when his spoon clanged off the rim of his bowl and bounced across the rug, spraying yogurt everywhere. 

He wasn’t surprised, he was simply startled by the sudden memory of Denise, and how Tara had come to him when that happened, too. 

But definitely not surprised. The two had been glued at the hip for a while now, and he’d kind-of assumed they were already together in a sense, with no specific thinking into what that entailed. He felt a warmth somewhere inside of him shake a small laugh loose in his chest, and held out his fist for her to bump. 

She regained control of her laughter, bumping his fist, and shook her head with a wet sniff. A grotesque mix of mirth and sorrow shortened her breath, suddenly overwhelmed, and it was hard to tell if she was still laughing or quietly sobbing when she covered her face with a hand. 

“Hey.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“No, it’s okay.” She hugged her knees with her other arm, laughing through the tears, trying to catch a steady breath. 

He waited for her struggle to subside, rubbing her back a little bit. 

“Deserve to be happy, you know. She’d want it.” 

Tara nodded, chin quivering as she composed herself. “She was an amazing person.” 

“Yeah, well. Takes one to know one,” he mumbled. He meant it, too, indicating so with a gentle nudge.

He felt numb. Maybe the painkillers, or maybe the fact that injuries had a tendency to bring his emotions to rock bottom, but he was glad he couldn’t cry, grateful he could be present for his friend without feeling overwhelmed. He knew now, how scary it could be to start something with someone. But he was happy, as much for Rosita as Tara.

She patted his knee and followed up with a squeeze, letting out a sigh. He studied her quietly.

"It's just... a lot." 

He nodded, chewing his lip as his head bobbed. "Yep." He stared at the bowl in his lap and considered eating the rest without the spoon somehow, instead he pushed the mess on his table over to set it down. He noticed the letter still sitting there and quietly tucked it into his pocket.

She watched him with her ox-eyed pout, and Daryl wondered if he simply had a weakness for cute things with big eyes, because he wanted to hug her. 

"I just don't want to mess it up, you know? I mean, she's, like, flawless? She's smart, funny, never in a million years did I ever think I'd have a chance with her, but she's changed a lot. She's actually really, really nice to me, when noone's looking. It's going to be new for both of us. I'm not even sure if I should've told you. We kinda talked it over before she left, promised we'd take things slow." She expunged a sigh and straightened up, feeling lighter now that she'd just blurted everything she maybe-shouldn't-have in one breath. 

Daryl stared down at his hands, and picked at them awkwardly. His nails were getting long and it was hard not to bite on them. 

"Shit," he managed, followed by a long exhale, the absurdity of his own speechlessness pushing him to offer an apologetic half-smile. She laughed.

"Yeah, we'll be alright. How about you?"

 

She stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon, her natural state of sarcastic goofiness returning soon enough. She filled him in on the run she’d just helped in packing off; Rosita, Rick, Eugene, Aaron and Eric were headed to the Kingdom to make trade and pitch the intercom plans in hopes of recruiting assistance. It brought Daryl more pride and hope than he cared to let on.

After heating up some frozen rat stew, he tagged along when Tara made one last round of his traps. The walking and fresh air was just what he'd needed. Instead of resetting the traps, they decided to gather them up for the winter. They had all been empty anyways, and he decided he’d try his luck around Hilltop for the winter.

Daryl tailed her to her own porch, where she plopped down to lean against the railing and yawn. He dropped the bundle of wire snares, sat next to her and pulled out his tobacco to roll another smoke. He’d gone all day without, but it wasn’t getting any fresher, and he wanted to use it up. There was only enough left for one or two more by the time he lit up, offering Tara a drag, which she kindly rebuffed. 

“We’ve got the good stuff inside. You wanna smoke a bowl?”

Daryl smirked and shook his head. “Nah. Thanks,” he offered, content to keep his own head on straight for the rest of his foreseeable life.

She gave him a _that’s fine_ kind of shrug, and started massaging the soreness out of her hands, both of them enjoying the cold night air.

“Jesus might take you up on it,” he added quietly, the nickname feeling strange on his tongue.

She grinned mischievously. “Oh, he has.” 

She wasn’t sure why Daryl had a reputation for being cold and humourless; he was easy to crack, once you began to recognize his poker face. He was beyond that, this time, brows perked and looking straight at her.

She laughed, and knocked his elbow. “It was, like, last week. The night Harlan got here, after Aaron helped develop the x-rays. He basically just drank an entire pitcher of kool-aid and fell asleep. It wasn’t all that fun, we were pretty tired. Maybe next time.”

Daryl had a long stare at the ground, carefully pinching out the cigarette with his calloused fingertips before tucking it into one of his pockets, so his hands were free to link while he hung his head over his knees. The cigarette wasn’t helping with the headache that had begun creeping back, and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much to know so little about what Paul did when he wasn’t around. He felt bad, too, for making them worry, and a little annoyed that a stupid accident had ended his lucky streak after coming out of battle practically unharmed. He did not remember an x-ray happening. The feeling of a hand on his arm shook him away from the carousel of negative thoughts in his head.

“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything? I know you don’t like, like to, but we have so much right now. We fought for it. It’s okay to be happy, once in a while.” He got the impression she was saying it as much to herself as she was to him, and she allowed him to return to his silence for a moment.

“I am,” he said quietly, looking up to her wearily.

“Are you sure? I mean, you still seem pretty quiet, even for Daryl.” 

He flicked the hair out of his eyes, shrugging vaguely. Her mouth twisted as she gnawed the inside of her cheek, lowering her voice and tilting her head to see his downcast face.

“Why isn’t Jesus here? Did something happen?”

He blinked down at his hands. Only Tara would decide that he wasn’t just naturally quiet, all the time, forever, right when he was trying to ignore the confusion that haunted him after Paul’s departure. 

“Not really. I dunno. He left me a letter.”

Tara stiffened uneasily. “What do you mean, he left you a letter? He’s coming back, right? I swear to god, if that little shit dumped you while you were hospitalized—”

“Stop,” he shoved her, before she could get any louder, “S’ not like that. He had stuff to do. Maggie needs him, and I’m fine, was just a stupid accident. Just don’t know how to react, is all.” 

She stared him down. Patiently, but he felt the pressure to continue, even though he felt he’d said enough.

“Think he wants to make it official, or somethin’. Kinda’ thought we already had,” he mumbled, tongue poking at his lower lip nervously. 

“Ohhh.” Dawning crossed her face, a curious smile curving her lips while she tilted her head. “So it was a love letter? That’s really sweet, isn’t it?”

He smiled a little bit, too. “Yeah.”

She slapped both hands down on her thighs, loud enough to startle him, standing. 

“You know what? I found you something amazing, and forgot to bring it over. Wait here.”

He laughed when she came back out with a notepad and a pen for him. The pen had one of those nasty little naked trolls with bright purple hair impaled on the back end, and the notepad was shaped like a cute cartoon cat wearing a ribbon, each page printed with a pastel version of the cover. He couldn’t promise her he’d use it, but the silly thought of it cheered him up enough to give her a big good-night bear hug.

After dinner and a bedtime dose, he ran himself a bath and brought the notepad into the bathroom with him. The water went cold while the pages remained blank, though they buckled slightly from the moisture in the air. Once in bed, the lines continued to lay untouched, splayed face-down on his chest as his exhausted frame sank into mattress, drumming the hairy little imp against his leg while he chewed on his thoughts.

The letter plagued his mind and muddied his thoughts through what should have been light and easy days that followed. He couldn’t tell if the man was trying his best to commit, or trying in some gentle way to show him the door. Everything had felt right and certain, there had been no question in his mind about the permanence of their bond until it was presented to him as an actual choice. 

Hadn’t it been obvious enough? Insecurity latched on to every nagging doubt he’d pushed to the back of his mind since they first began. 

Maybe things had happened too fast. Maybe he was pushing himself into uncomfortable territory out of naïve infatuation. Maybe he had over-shared. His utter cluelessness was hitting him harder than ever, now that he had time to reflect on everything that had gone unspoken. Grief and frustration tugged his bedsheets tight and spoiled every human encounter, until he found his own clothes tucked under the mattress, still smelling of Paul’s sleeping body. He scrubbed the evidential stains from them while he turned over heaps in his head, trying to sift some tangible answer from the muddy water.

He’d come to trust in Paul’s confident, patient, gentle guiding hand when expressing his own affection. Jesus was the man who had braced him, quiet and fearless through the storm the Saviors’ war brought, had sheltered him when he was weak yet stood staunchly behind every choice he made. Jesus respected his capabilities in the fights that came, and moreso he was grateful he never actually said it. He had superstitious feelings about the events that had brought them here. For the first time in a very long time, he felt awe for whatever forces beyond their reach had played them into each other's arms.

Their lives had knit together so seamlessly before either had a chance to question it, and while he’d always known this moment might come, he feared his inability to simply tell him that he cared. That it mattered. That he felt it, wanted it. Carefully ruined pages piled up in the fireplace and the inadequacy of language built a maddening pressure inside his head until the lamp flickered out. He was kind of glad he’d used up all of the cat paper. He didn’t want his reply to be tacky, on top of painfully short and awkward.

The end of the week came slow as ketchup, strange dreams and spent ink seeping by until life rushed back in and spilled over once more from the cup of his palms. 

Eugene left on Saturday afternoon, with manuals, kits, and a lumpy little envelope Daryl had rushed into his hands before he rode out. 

Daryl tuned his crossbow; geese had flocked to the river in the night, and Rick had asked him over for dinner. 

 

______

 

Paul was spreading fresh straw in the barn’s stalls, after a full morning of hard cleaning, when he heard the gates open and the growl of a motorbike growing louder before cutting to an idle rumble. The gates shut. The rumble went silent.

The faint and practised scrape of a spear penetrating a walker’s skull came once, twice. No shouts of alarm, only low murmurs of welcome; must have been the usual stragglers trailing their visitor to the gate. 

Heart in his throat, he fought the urge to run and greet the hunter. He kept to his task, back drenched in sweat with bits of straw in his hair, wondering if Daryl would come looking for him, sort of hoping he wouldn’t until he had the chance to clean up. 

He tightened up his cuffed sleeves, pulled the band off his wrist with his teeth and pushed the sweaty strands of hair off his neck, twisting them into a tight, messy bun. Then, he drew a knife and sliced the strings off the last bale. With a pitchfork he fluffed it throughout the largest of the box stalls. 

The gentle creak of the door closing and boots crunching over floorboards would make him pause before turning to look, standing the pitchfork against the wall. Dark, windswept hair would frame the hunter’s austere lips. Daryl, mostly recovered, with multi-coloured, faded bruises accentuating the handsome creases under his eyes, would give him that mysterious little smile. 

Paul would keep his poker face, as best as he could, eyes wide as saucers and heart racing while the hunter’s heavy step crossed over the threshold into the shady stall. The latch on the tall, heavy door clinks shut behind him.

At least, that was how he’d envisioned it going down. After letting the animals back into their shady compartments and slapping the mulch and dust from his clothes, he left the barn to see who had arrived; there hadn't been any deliveries scheduled, and it hadn't even been a week since he left Alexandria. 

The sight that greeted him at the gates was confusing, but no one around seemed alarmed. Daryl's bike didn't look right, at first; different headlight, different seat, different rack, different finish, and when he saw Eugene's portly figure climbing to the lookout by the gates he realised it wasn't in fact Daryl's, but the project he'd spied in Aaron's garage. Eugene hoisted a large duffel bag onto the watchtower’s platform and dug around inside of it. He didn't bother to remove his helmet as he began to attach something to the original telegraph pole that paralleled one of the wall's supports, Maggie and Eduardo supervising closely. 

When she turned to glance over the yard, she immediately noticed him standing there and carefully descended the stairs as he made his way over. 

"Nothin' to worry about. They're testing the lines, seeing if they can hardwire something."

"Really? Who's _they?_ "

"Everyone, I guess. Rick and Zeke are both in on it," she mused, squinting up at the man still working the pole as Eduardo skipped down the steps to squeeze through the gate and help from the other side. 

She didn't seem too pleased about being out of the loop, but the idea of being able to communicate gave him a rush of relief. He caught her look and smiled, shaking his head. 

"No one told me anything either, but it's about time," he offered.

She nodded.  
"It is, isn’t it?" 

They stood and watched for a while, comfortably enjoying the warm sun in contrast to the cool air, until Eugene seemed satisfied with his work and packed up his tools and gadgets. He shuffled toward them when he reached the ground, addressing Maggie first.

"Seems like this is the best place for it, for now. We can run the line inside once we're past the troubleshooting stage." 

"I agree. If we'll be needing backup, whoever's on watch will be ready to sound the alarm, and we'll always have someone nearby to answer. Thanks, Eugene." 

He nodded abruptly, flustered by the praise. "Just doin' what I can. How's the, uh, little one coming along?" He grimaced at his own awkwardness.

Maggie smiled, resting a hand on her bump. "Comin' along just fine. Real glad you're doin' this, I'll let you know if anything happens."

“Much obliged.” Eugene turned to Jesus, and as if just remembering, dug a lumpy envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. "This is from Mister Dixon.”

Paul’s heart lurched nauseatingly, wide-eyed as he accepted the packet. He muttered a quiet thank-you as he tucked it into his pocket. Maggie looked beside herself with pride.

"My next stop is the Kingdom, but I was hoping to pay my respects here before moving on," Eugene continued, addressing Maggie again. 

“Of course, Eugene. You’re always welcome here,” she replied, quietly, jarred by the unexpected reminder. She reached out to pat his arm, which he dodged instinctively.

"Thanks muchly,” he mumbled, to his feet, arcing around them just out of reach.

"You’ve got plenty of time to get there, why don't you stay for lunch?" Maggie called after him, hoping to extend any courtesy she could, and maybe talk to him for once.

"That's quite alright. I have to check the lines on the way, so there’s no telling how long that might take. Had a mind to pack my own, anyways. But if you've got a message for the king, I'd be happy to deliver it," he noted, curtly. 

She smiled, recalling the dramatic gentleman and his breathtaking companion, Shiva. “Only that we miss his company, and hope to see him soon.”

“Will do,” he nodded to them both and strode away.

 

________

 

Daryl took his time packing. He had more possessions than he was used to carrying now; mostly tools, and items for maintaining tools. The extra clothes that were actually clean were his new favourite luxury, a few books adding a lot of weight being his least favourite, but Paul had left them with various people and they all eventually found their way to his room somehow. He wanted to return them, now that he’d skimmed the ones that caught his interest. 

What was once a small pouch of mementos had also grown in size; too many friends lost. Among them, a small green stone, a roughly carved figurine, a spent plastic lighter decorated with a photo of a nude woman (Glenn had looted it off a walker, and found it hilarious), letters from Carol at the Kingdom, a trick quarter, more lighters and a few trinkets he’d taken just for shits, all wrapped up in Dale’s handkerchief. He was considering relegating the vest to that same souvenir status; the wings weren’t as white as they used to be; maybe he'd make it an excuse to visit Carol. 

Staring down at it where it lay spread out on his bed, he couldn’t really decide how to fold it, but he almost felt silly wearing it, now. Having been Merle’s, the weight of it had replaced his brother’s presence, and brought him comfort for a while, but now it looked too big on his still-starved frame. He couldn’t stuff it into his rucksack without harshly creasing the leather, so in the end he shrugged it on again.

After one last look at his room, he flicked the bathroom light off, hoisted his bag and crossbow onto his back, grabbed the guitar and left to meet Rick at his dodge. 

 

________

 

_love you too. talk soon_

 

Even for Daryl, the handwriting was messy, in spots the lines tracing the texture of denim through the paper or puncturing it completely, like he’d scrawled it against his thigh at the last minute. Folded inside the crumply note was, by contrast, a nicely-rolled cigarette. 

Paul wanted to sob when he finally opened it. He had vigorously ignored the contents of his pocket for the rest of the day, despite blatant stares and glares from Maggie, who urged him to take a break pretty much on the hour while he toiled with the rest of the residents to bring in the harvest. 

He’d even refrained through dinner, lingering in the kitchens and office until almost everyone had gone to bed. He felt sick to his stomach the entire time, full of regret, turning the thing over in his mind’s eye; it didn’t seem to have much to it. He couldn’t imagine how someone like Daryl would respond to his ramblings. From the moment he’d left, he hoped Daryl wouldn’t even find it, but this was living proof that he quite possibly had. 

Every time it crinkled in his pocket, he wanted to go back in time and choke himself. 

After taking a moment to allow the simple message to chase away the shitty feelings that had clung to him all week, he extinguished his lantern and sat down at his desk by the open window. He toyed with the cigarette thoughtfully for a moment, inhaled the aroma, and then tucked it behind his ear and opened his journal. Turning to a fresh page, he copied the date from the home-made calendar on his wall, nipped off a small piece of tape, and attached the note to the page. He returned his journal to its hiding place at the bottom of a box of tissues tucked inside his drawer.

Then he slept for fourteen hours.

 

“Yes, yer highness.” She was waving Jesus over, a tight-lipped smile plastered across her face beneath the morning sunlight. He took the steps two at a time up the watchtower.

“Yes,” she said into the receiver she cradled to her ear, “he’s right here.” She handed him the handset.

Looking a little stunned and lost, he pressed it to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Jesus!” came a deep but tinny voice. 

“It is I, Ezekiel. How fare thee on this good morn?” 

“Your majesty,” he gasped, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “I’m well, and to what do I owe this pleasure?” He felt himself grinning uncontrollably, and couldn’t hide the mirth in his voice, while Maggie and Sasha shared a bubbly embrace, trying to giggle as quietly as possible. 

He hadn’t seen the residents this excited since the war had ended, and everyone was packing in close for a chance to speak to friends in other communities. The novelty wasn’t lost on him. There was a pause on the other end amidst a muted din of shouts and laughter, and he heard the scrape of fabric over the receiver and the low rumble of Ezekiel’s murmur before he responded.

“Things couldn’t be better, Jesus, nor could this innovation come at a more opportune time. I was about to send runners to extend a formal invitation, but we had a surprise visit this morning, and risking our messenger is no longer necessary. Carol and I are to be wed, and just as I’ve told Maggie, we would be honoured by your presence at the ceremony and pursuant celebrations, to be held here at the Kingdom in a fortnight.”

Eyebrows sky high, he glanced around, tongue-tied. “That’s—that’s excellent news, Ezekiel. You have my earnest congratulations, please extend them to Carol as well. You can count on me to be there.” 

“Excellent! All are welcome, so please invite the rest of Hilltop for me. I’m being shooed off the line,” he laughed, his voice abandoning character, “I have someone here who wants to say hello.”

“Okay, uh,” he paused at the sound of shuffling.

“Hey.” The gravely voice was barely a whisper, and he felt his heart stop momentarily.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah.” He could _hear_ the hunter smiling.

“Hey.” 

The silence lingered awkwardly, utterly tongue-tied and still a little disoriented after just waking up. He swallowed and nearly choked on the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“Miss ya’,” came shyly over the line.

On the other end, Daryl heard an amused puff of air rake over the mouthpiece. “I miss you too. What are you doing there? Are you feeling better?”

Daryl glanced around, Rick and the others were giving him space, Ezekiel and Carol flanked Shiva, who basked as they both pet her absentmindedly, fingers deep in her thick fur.

“Yeah, 'm good. We’re helpin' Eugene to check the lines. He’s back at Alexandria. It’s uh—the phone number there is one.”

“One.” He echoed, possibly baffled.

Daryl laughed. “Yeah. Yer two. Kingdom’s three.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So, uh. Surprise.” Felt silly saying it, but he was too relieved by the sound of Paul’s voice to care. He heard laughter, and a sniffle.

“Oh my God, Daryl,” he choked out.

“Y'ain't cryin’ are ya?”

“No, no. I mean, yes, but,” there was a staggered sigh, and quiet laughter. He heard Sasha calling out in the distance, saying _we miss you, Daryl._

“Don’t cry, damnit. Gonna drop by later. Mind if I crash there for a bit?”

A sigh tore loudly against his ear, and the fault in Paul’s voice when he spoke was raw with emotion. 

“Good. Yes—I mean, stay. Please.”

Daryl stood there, nodding for a moment, before he remembered Paul couldn't hear that, and cleared his throat. 

"Okay. Good. Could ya gimme Maggie?”

 

Daryl felt anxious to get going throughout the afternoon and lengthy meal that Ezekiel's people prepared for the Alexandria guests, but he kept it from showing aside from the occasional restless leg. Held around a fold-up table behind the throne on the auditorium's stage, the affair was strictly for family and friends, mostly so that Shiva could lurk around their ankles for scraps and scratches. 

He was eager to get to hilltop but in no hurry to leave, listening to Rick catch up with Carol, about the woes of potato bugs and the wonders of chicken shit. Shiva groomed the savoury oils from his hand where he let it hang within her reach, their plates a midden heap pushed to the center of the table to make room for the wine being poured. He was pretty proud of himself for bagging two geese, one for Rick and one to bring, and Carol had spared no effort in preparing it. 

Ezekiel had wanted the intercom to have a special place on a small table beside the throne. Daryl thought it looked ridiculous, and that anyone who used it would have the awkward situation of whether to sit in the throne or on the floor, but he didn't say anything, just wanted the damn thing plugged in so they could find out it didn't work. Again.

He had certainly not expected the ring on the other end of the line. Eugene was too quiet at first, and then way too loud, and then damn well clear enough to try Hilltop, and suddenly his heart was in his throat, so he offered Ezekiel the honour instead. 

He paced quietly until he heard Jesus' name spoken, then felt his ears heat up, noticed Rick's eyes on him, Carol's, and then Ezekiel's. He never asked to speak to him, not out loud; apparently he and Paul were officially the last to find out they were, in fact, an item. 

A heavy, soft paw touched his ankle, tapped it again, until he noticed the big tiger was gently going after the laces that kept him from tripping over his own pants. She gave him a wide-eyed, playful look, tail curling and thrashing as she rolled onto her back to make cute and stretch. Suddenly all smiles were on them, and for once he couldn't be less bothered by it, letting his fingers disappear into the creamy fur of her belly while she extended her throat to his confident scratches and relaxed with a deep, contented growl. 

There had been a painful tightness in his chest for most of his life, ignored and scabbed over and buried for years. An indistinct sense of inferiority, impermanence, of being subhuman, damaged and untouchable. He'd grown so used to it that he hadn't even known it was still there until the moment Paul asked him to stay, when he felt it vanish.

He committed the feeling to memory, abuzz with it while the rest of the day flowed easy around him. He was almost certain it wouldn't last, but he knew it was good, and right, and he was ready to fight the world to hold on to it.

 

________

 

Paul was a little too ready for Daryl to show up that night. 

He washed with his favourite hotel shampoo, found something light and comfortable to wear, and idly distracted himself with how cluttered his room had become. That took some time to sort, a little indecisive on how to arrange the towers of books against the wall that didn’t have room on his shelves, though most of them he’d decided he could donate to Alexandria, having read them once or twice. Then, he spent a solid half hour trimming and filing his nails.

Once staring at the ceiling from his freshly-made bed got boring, he made his usual rounds of the gardens and barn, making sure tarps were in place and animals had everything they needed before sunset. 

He wasn’t surprised to find Carl and Enid tucked away in the hayloft with one of his comic anthologies, the fawn curled up beside them. Maggie had banned it from the house, and Carl hadn’t used his room much since. They had blankets and pillows and a lantern, which they promised not to leave unattended, and he tried not to get too excited about being able to make a little noise that night without having to suffer Carl’s awkward glares the next day.

He tried not to rub one out, and failed, and then tried to justify it to himself by thinking he’d have a little more patience when he arrived. 

When Daryl finally rolled in, slung his leg over his bike and kicked up the stand, dropped his bag in the dirt and took him into his arms for a kiss, he was the one who grew red in the face, approached by several onlookers by the time Maggie and the rest snatched Daryl away for hugs and pleasantries. 

Daryl bashfully laughed off their concerns about his accident, the bruising around his eyes and the bandage bracing the bridge of his nose seemed no more than charming accessories.

They ate around the big fire in the courtyard that night, with cookies and cider and cobbler and stew all from a crate carefully strapped to the rack of his bike. Daryl seemed truly warm and comfortable with everyone, in his own quiet way, and even explained all of what went into his and Eugene’s work as though it was nothing. 

It was the most anyone had heard him speak in a long time, the most anyone had heard of his voice without it’s defensive edge even, and more than ever Paul felt himself spellbound.

That evening flew by easy and light, and subtly different, better, with neither of them feeling they owed it to the other to conceal the bond between them. When he was tipsy enough for Daryl to nudge the guitar into his arms, with Sasha and Maggie singing along to an old radio hit that definitely hadn’t been acoustic to start with, laughing through every halt and trip of his unpractised fingers, it almost felt too much like a happy ending to trust in it, but he hoped that maybe he could, at least for a night.

 

________

 

Paul stared at his ceiling, weary bones bound to the mattress by light intoxication and gravity. The silence of the house filled his ears, and Daryl was lingering an excessively long time in the bathroom after brushing his teeth, but he eventually slipped into his room and shut the door. The bed’s frame groaned and popped as he collapsed onto the bed next to Paul, snuggling close to him and releasing a heavy sigh. He nuzzled against Paul’s cheek and quietly breathed in the scent of his hair for a while, gathering himself and adjusting to their privacy.

“Sorry for missin’ yer class,” he mumbled out of the blue. Paul snorted.

“Wouldn’t have let you join anyways, head injury’s a liability,” he yawned.

Daryl simply watched his face quietly in the cold dim light. He turned to meet the stare with a scratchy caress of his own, cheek to cheek.

“The phone call made up for it,” he added, smiling against Daryl’s jawline before planting a soft peck against it, “best surprise ever.” 

“Was your idea,” Daryl shrugged, “I mean, ‘s not some bonfire up a mountain, but it’ll do.” 

“It’s even better. Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day,” Paul muttered, snuggling closer to Daryl and getting comfortable in the crook of his arm. 

“Don’t know if I coulda’ left Rick on his own without it, y’know? Owe him my life, a hundred times over.”

“Gives us some freedom, doesn’t it,” he supposed, toying one of Daryl’s buttons open. 

“Mhm.” Daryl pressed his lips to Paul’s head. 

He was a little buzzed as well, mostly from the elderberry wine Ezekiel had sent with him. It was a big bottle, and after the bubbly, sour cider, all of Hilltop’s late-night revelers combined couldn’t even get through half of it before guiltily corking it again. It was bittersweet, and strong and delicious, and no one wanted to get too drunk; a somber reminder that each among them was a survivor in some form, able and ready to keep their wits about them and turn in before anything got too rowdy. 

Besides, no one wanted Maggie to feel too left out, though she seemed happy enough sharing her bowl of sugared raspberries and cream with Sasha.

It made their kisses that much sweeter as they staggered up the stairs to shut themselves in their room.

Lazily plastered against him, Paul kissed him through his shirt, resting his head again, gone quiet to the slow rise and fall of Daryl’s chest, both awash in a long-forgotten sense of peace. Their bellies were still dangerously heavy with wine and sweets, and he didn’t want to sleep just yet. 

Daryl tugged at a few of the whiskers on his chin, still feeling restless about something he couldn’t put his finger on, but Paul’s body was warm and heavy against his side, and his hair smelled nice, like hay and sunshine and hair. It was still hard for him to process, after so long on the road, that everyone he knew was ready to put down roots, Carol especially. 

He wasn't sure he could relate, even now; with the world in ruins, he finally wanted to explore it. There was space to conquer and claim and re-shape to his liking, better than what “America” had ever been, better than anything Negan had envisioned in his tyrannical fervor. Better than the world that made turned love into anchors, and friends and brothers into criminal accomplices.

“You sure you wanna stay here? For good?” Daryl watched him carefully when he glanced up. Paul blinked once before resting his head again in thought. He popped another button open to make room for his hand, spreading his palm flat over Daryl’s breastbone.

“I still don’t think either of us belong behind these walls,” he murmured. 

_No?_ Daryl asked silently with brows alone.

He shook his head. 

“Everything we need is still out there. The supplies, the people, the answers. I know why you did it; it wasn’t just for me, and I’m glad. I know you want to know everyone’s safe so you can keep moving. I do, too. If we ever reach that point, I’m ready. But I want to _go_ with you, wherever you go. I can’t play the waiting game.”

Daryl pressed his taut smile against Paul’s temple, melting into another gentle kiss.

“Good,” he breathed into his hair. 

“Yeah?” Another button popped. 

“Mhm,” Daryl’s face burned as he felt fingertips stalking across his chest. “Feel safer with you ‘round,” he mumbled, so quietly that Jesus wasn’t sure he’d heard it, but it stayed his hand just short of a nipple, kneading his fingertips into sparse hair and thick muscle instead. 

“Do you really?” The words tripped past the tightness in his throat. 

Daryl nodded, sweeping the hair from his brow and waiting for Paul to see it in his eyes and believe it, because it was true. As much as Merle and Rick and Glenn and Michonne and everyone else, he knew Paul also had his back. And then he knew Paul knew, because he was moving on top of him with that smug grin of his, letting all his weight fall flat against him, taking his face in both hands for a very long and breathtaking kiss, followed by a shaky sigh. 

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” he bluntly interred, resting his forehead against Daryl’s, feeling a warm puff of amusement escape the man below him. Blunt fingertips dug into his back and raked up his spine, drawing out a low sigh. He took one of Daryl’s lips between his teeth before nudging them apart once more. 

Daryl’s tongue responded, not shyly, just slowly, drawing it out like they had all the time in the world, the half hard-on he’d been ignoring all day now impossible to conceal where it was crushed beneath Paul’s. Both fell quiet, and Paul idly tickled his neck with an exploring finger. Daryl idly wondered what it’d be like to kiss him without the big crunchy beard, and then chased the thought from his mind when he realized it might remind him of someone else. He shook himself, and nudged Paul’s cheek with his nose.

“What d’you want?” He struggled to ask, punctuated with a strained sigh, feeling silly. It sounded like something a waiter would ask someone poring over a menu. But there were options, and he was hungry enough for just about anything; they’d experimented a lot, and he’d loved all of it. He just wanted to know what Paul liked, so that he could learn to do it better.

“I want you…” Paul shrugged, still thinking seriously about his answer, because it was hard to decide. He rounded back to his original train of thought, continuing with Daryl’s buttons, lifting his upper body to get to them and putting even more weight on his hips, shifting them subtly and Daryl’s mouth fell open in response. After finally parting the shirt away and splaying his hands up Daryl’s immense torso, he went for the throat. 

Daryl lifted his chin, opening his body to the sucking kisses, scratchy beard and fierce teeth, his own hands momentarily lost and limp in the surge of sensation. He felt Paul mouthing his way up his jawbone to his ear, his beard and breath sending tingles down his spine.

“I want to make you feel good,” he whispered, massaging Daryl’s chest before honing in on his nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, feeling Daryl’s cock twitch against his own before crushing down against it with a heavy grind of his hips. 

“Hh,” Daryl shivered, in a failed attempt to push out a cohesive reply, digging his short nails into Paul’s back and dragging them back down his spine to grope and pull at his ass for more pressure, his hips more responsive than his lips. Warm electrifying waves of pleasure radiated from Paul’s fingers on his chest, his over-stimulated mind gone blank, mute.

“You like that, angel?” Paul couldn’t help smiling at his lover’s raptured features, twisting and stroking the hard nubs beneath his thumbs and slowly rolling his hips, dragging his own hardness against the firm erection below it. Daryl was gasping, twitchy almost, and it was just too sweet how easy it was to rile him up, and he left scratchy soft kisses along the breadth of his clavicle.

After a long, distracted delay, he managed a breathy “yes,” trying to push his hands beneath the too-tight belt and earning a gentle chuckle for his efforts. 

“Want more, babe? Or is this enough?” Paul pinched harder, twisting both nipples and biting his ear, planting his knees into the mattress astride him to lift off and tease him with another feather-light drag against the tent he’d created in his jeans. 

Daryl growled loudly with frustration, bucked Paul’s hips up and off him with a rough slam of his own and fumbled eagerly for the clasp of his belt, yanking his pants open and shoving them down so he could feel him up through the thin fabric of his dark blue boxer-briefs. He butted his head against Paul’s in search of more kisses. 

Paul shoved his tongue into Daryl’s mouth with a huff and kissed him deep and heavy and a little bit wet and messy, too. His breath caught, making him slurp and choke a bit when Daryl’s thick strong hand brazenly entered his underwear to wrap around his dick. 

“Wanna do you good, prick, slow th’hell down,” he growled into his mouth, leveraging his body to roll Paul off of him and get on top so he could struggle out of his own pants, all the while stroking and caressing the erection in his grip, loving the muted groan he earned in response, loving the feel of soft loose skin sliding over the turgid flesh beneath it as he gave a few short, tight tugs, letting go when he felt Paul’s gut clench and breath hitch. 

“Baby everything you do is good,” he mewled, strained, stiff and writhing into his handiwork impatiently, encircling Daryl’s shoulders with his arms and slathering wet kisses all over his cheek and chin.

Daryl grunted, finally kicked his pants off the bed, wearing nothing beneath them, and put all his weight on the trim body beneath his for another languid kiss, Paul’s briefs abandoned somewhere mid-thigh and arm sneaking between them to take both erections in hand for a good, long, teasing make-out session, their bodies gradually melding into one seething mass of arousal.

For a short while Daryl worried the plateau would spill over, but Paul kept the pressure light enough that slowly it tempered to a cottony buzz, each beat of his pulse a tick of bliss in his dully aching cock. He broke away from Paul’s mouth to drag a thick tongue up his throat. 

Paul arched into it, softly moaning and idly rubbing the slick wetness that leaked from them both into the sensitive heads with the pad of his thumb. The harsh moan against his throat made him laugh breathily, and he licked the cute ear peeking out from Daryl’s hair, resulting in a mildly disgusted groan. 

Daryl bit down on a clavicle and sucked up a mean welt, jarring him out of his lurid trance. He yanked the hunter away by a shock of hair with a hiss. 

They paused a moment, a few inches of hot breath between them, each studying the other’s wild and hungry eyes until Daryl swallowed nervously and Paul decided it was time to take the helm.

“I wanna taste you, babe,” he pleaded quietly, poking Daryl’s nose with his own before grasping his hips and pulling him, trying to squirm lower, sucking and kissing down his neck and collarbone and chest. Daryl acquiesced with a quiet breath once he got the picture.

“Me too,” he rasped, “missed your damn mouth,” he mumbled, rising up on his knees, still a little lost as to what position Paul was trying to achieve until the scout grabbed the backs of his thighs, guiding him to scoot his hips higher and stopping midway to suck on one of his nipples. 

“Shit,” he hissed, yanking Paul’s head off his chest by the hair and straddling his face to stuff his cock past his greedy lips. Paul’s hot tongue was a sweet relief which he thrust against, sliding as deep as he could go and panting heavily at the sight below him. Strong, graceful hands gripped his thighs and Paul shimmied his jaw lower to take him in all the way, batting lashes with smugly smiling eyes at him from where his cock was buried in his face.

After a beat, his throat clenched and his gag forced his head back off the intrusion for a deep gasp in through his nose. His lips wrapped tight around the pulsing organ, pulling up, up until his mouth encircled the head, tongue laving at the tip as he caught his breath before he took another slow dive, all the saliva that pooled in his mouth spreading thickly and bubbling out where his lips met the base again, nose pressed against his pelvis. He held his breath a long time, tongue sliding and swallowing around the length while Daryl hollered and moaned and grasped his head by tight fistfuls of hair. 

He tried his damnedest not to get carried away on the blissful sensation writhing around him, pinning the scout down with his weight until he started slapping his thigh and clawing him off seconds away from climax. 

“Oh shit babe that’s hot,” he gasped through a wet cough, moaning and sucking fervently along the side of his length as he caught his breath, broadly lapping the underside of the poor twitching thing. 

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, cupping Paul’s cheek with a steady palm as he shifted away to deprive him of the rest. His meaty thighs were shaking uncontrollably, an intense need for release tempered only by the want to see his lover sated as well. 

Paul turned his head to kiss his hand and take it in his own with a deep centering breath, then pulled himself up to a sit beneath him, grasping at Daryl to keep him flush beneath the legs he straddled, chest to the taller man’s belly and clinging to his trim waist with an upward look of lewd adoration. Daryl’s cock twitched against his belly as he slid a hand down his crack and carefully teased his hole.

“May I?” 

Daryl shut his eyes with a quick nod, wishing he could pretend the little shit hadn’t just wiggled his eyebrows with an angry sigh.

“I love that you like this,” he murmured, kissing Daryl’s chest again, smearing some of the slimy dribble from his balls back to his entrance to rub the wetness around.

Daryl tried to respond and couldn’t come out with more than a strained gasp. He did like it, he marvelled that someone like Paul would even want him this way. His heart stumbled in his chest as that marvellously hot tongue and wet, pink lips encircled one of his nipples again, giving a long tingly suck while poking a fingertip past the tight ring of muscle, setting his upper half aflame. He let his head hang, dumbstruck and certain he was red as a lobster. 

“Paul,” he choked out, cradling the back of his head to his chest with a palm. In a daze he felt the man shift beneath him to reach for something, heard the click of the bottle and the cold-hot spread of liquid before fingers entered him once more, stretching him as eagerly as the mouth that sucked up blossoming welts all over his chest, occasionally raising him to near-peak with attention to his nipples. 

Soon the fingers were replaced by the blunt head of his cock, his legs shook as he fought not to clench around it, struck silent and petrified by one agonizing shock at first that slowed his lover to whispered apologies. Sensations shifted through the spectrum of discomfort from heat to warmth to full and fiery pleasure as he eased down and in and closer and tighter. Locked in an intimate embrace, his thighs began to burn.

“You can relax, baby, you won’t crush me.” Paul rubbed his back and down his legs and held him tight as Daryl released a stale breath and settled his weight in his lap, and began rocking up into him just barely at first, leaving more scratchy kisses against his neck. 

Daryl’s silence would be disquieting if he didn’t know the man well enough to read it. He wasn’t as tough as he looked with his clothes off, flushed and trembling in his arms, exuding a supple vulnerability he hoped he would never betray. But he was rocking back into him, shifting his hips, leaking and holding in each breath, tensing as the pleasure ramped up and brought him close to bursting. Paul smiled as the hunter sought his lips, those heavy, roaming hands clutching both sides of his face. 

Daryl had been close from the start, and Paul was getting there with barely any leverage between them. Without removing his tongue from Daryl’s mouth, he eased him onto his back, long hair curtaining their faces as his strokes increased in slack and haste. He was rewarded with a sharp moan from the man beneath him, who kept his legs wrapped around him, angling himself for friction in just the right spot and blindly pulling at his hips and ass, breaking their kiss with a harsh gasp. 

“Fuckin’ fuck me, Jesus, I’m there, I’m gonna—”

Paul straightened his arms for a better view of the body beneath him as it bucked and struggled, trying to keep a pace despite the disarming beauty of Daryl coming beneath him. He shook and quivered, balls tightening as cum shot up over his chest, one spurt reaching his own lips, and that was enough for Paul to close the gap again, licking his lips apart and panting heavily as he thrust into him roughly. He moaned Daryl’s name when he came, and Daryl held him, collapsed against his chest, arms and legs turned to jelly, still throbbing deliciously inside the hot mess he’d made with the pungent taste of him on his tongue. 

Both were too tired to move, sweat trickling down from tight spaces, until a cool breeze finally stirred from the open window.

“Goodnight,” he joked, wiggling his hips happily to push himself back inside by a little, but then he truly dozed off after another minute, leaving Daryl to tip him into a more comfortable position and hunt down his underwear to keep some of the mess from ending up on the bed. Paul’s briefs fit him quite well, and considering he owed him a pair, he decided he’d keep them.

“G’night, prick,” he mumbled, pulling a sheet over them and snuggling against his side. 

“Mm.” 

His peaceful face was so pretty in the moonlight that Daryl wanted to touch it, but he settled for simply watching him sleep, synchronising with his slow steady breaths and slipping into dreams himself, already excited for tomorrow’s bedtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long, while I had plenty of time to work on it, it was just slow, sorry for the wait. At this point I have so many AUs I want to start on, that will be shorter, and sillier, that I'm forlornly trying to wrap this beast up. Thank you for the sweet remarks, they were a kick in the butt when I needed one. I'll try to reply as soon as I can, it's been a long journey IRL, both spacially and mentally to get to where I can sit down and collect myself. 
> 
> Sorry for the sloppy smut, I'm a goblin, and thank you for reading!


	11. To Build Anew

Things weren’t always perfect.

The most frustrating part of Daryl “ruining” their first Christmas together was convincing him that he hadn’t. It took all of Paul’s patience not to just march, raving, after him into the frosty woods, to become food for the bears or coyotes or wolves, all of whom seemed to be making a comeback with the loss of competition from humanity. Daryl wasn’t happy about that bit; less deer to hunt, and their last brush with a cougar had shaken him a bit. He didn’t specifically tell Jesus to stay behind, but he obviously grew tense when he wanted to come along. He was fine with focusing on the tasks within the walls, or scouting suburbia; Daryl field dressing his kills was a scene he was content to avoid.

At least there would be meat, though he was partial to game that was less likely to have scavenged twice-dead human remains.

He felt the need to convince him, though, because it really, truly, didn’t matter to him; he’d prepared for disappointment just like every year, and despite the modest festivities it tripped into him like a mumbled punch line. 

He had no idea that the man would be so offended? Wounded. By receiving gifts he hadn’t expected, and if he wasn’t certain that it was because, deep down, Daryl felt some immense and unnecessary guilt for not having prepared some in kind, he would’ve been more irate than he actually was. Daryl brought him little gifts all the time. Built him his shelves, kissed him every morning, weathered his bad days and caught and returned every smile. He would sometimes read to him in bed, if the passage was short and the night long enough. 

He’d even let Paul read him the Hobbit in it’s entirety. Twice. And even seemed to enjoy it, if dozing off to the drone of his voice while he combed off-handed through soft, dark locks, counted for enjoyment.

He loved the way Daryl read. He took his time to digest the sentence, to be sure he’d say it right, and his voice gradually lost its edge when he was absorbed in the literature and the need to put up a rough front diminished. Sometimes he kept reading ahead in silence, but Paul could tell by his line of sight where he was on the page, and followed along a while before nudging him back to the present. The lilting pace and soothing voice reverberating through his chest where he rest his head were some of the greatest gifts he’d ever received. 

He’d just wanted to make him smile. He never expected anything in return. 

Maybe it was his own fault for being so coy about indulging his birth date, and making Daryl guess, which he sometimes did, based on anything from astrological stereotypes to the ever-shifting colour of his eyes to his food and weather preferences. He’d even been close, guessing his year by his taste in music alone, and he should have given up the game, but part of him still deeply feared the man would go off and get himself hurt looking for a gift if he knew the date was shortly upon them. Of course, Maggie just had to spoil it by wrapping her gift to him in a birthday cake motif. 

“Really?” Was all Daryl had asked, before loping out the front door and through the gates, shaking his head, ears red and crossbow slung across his back. He had to stop Maggie from going after him. 

If anything, the fact that his nickname had been borne of sarcasm was kind of embarrassing, a consoling childhood habit to take the edge off of having just one special day a year when seemingly every other child had two. He was over it, though, or at least he thought he was. It wasn’t like he ever wanted for much; for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a family that would stick.

He did his best to be friendly and helpful throughout the day, keeping a strong front up for the kids, but began to feel sick to his stomach when the sun went down and Daryl had yet to return from his hunt. Within an hour of collapsing in bed and choking down the occasional sob, his ears picked up heavy bootsteps all the way down in the kitchen, and Sasha murmuring to Maggie to stay upstairs, he was fine, she’d found him right outside. 

She tapped on his door next. “He’s back, Jesus. He’s okay.” 

She spoke just loud enough that he could hear through the door, without it carrying downstairs. He mumbled a quiet “okay,” and waited for the sound of her walking away, and with a shaky sigh, he dried his tears on his sleeve and blew his nose.

Prick, he sighed, but he couldn’t tell if he was more angry at Daryl for scaring him, or himself for being scared.

Maybe it wouldn’t even really be all that “ruined”; it was just after seven. It only felt later because the sun set earlier in winter.

 

With a massive tom turkey and a brace of grouse to add to the venison he’d hauled home earlier that week, Daryl felt satisfied that his sulk hadn’t been a total waste, though guilt and embarrassment still churned inside him. 

He kicked off his boots and left them by the rear service door, then stepped back through the melting blobs of snow he’d tracked in to gather Paul in his sweaty, smelly arms, where he stood with red-rimmed eyes, his hair adorably frizzed up on one side, looking numb and defeated, in the kitchen doorway, on his fucking birthday.

Daryl wished for a reset button that would give him a do-over, from right before he’d accidentally elbowed Paul in the teeth getting out of bed that morning. Half his upper lip was still a little puffy.

“‘m sorry,” he offered, with a gentle peck over the tender swelling, and added with a squeeze, “scarf’s real nice. Couldn’t wait to wear it.” 

Jesus hugged him tight with a laugh-sniffle, thumping his back, murmuring a “glad you like it” into his coat. It was a nice scarf. Angora, in a dusty blue-and-brown tartan that looked great on Daryl. He’d taken it off a frosty, eerily well-preserved walker, but it cleaned up nice, and now it smelled like sandalwood and Daryl.

He dove right into helping to clean and pluck the birds before he could get too tearful again. He was hungry, and he knew that arguing on an empty stomach would be more emotional than necessary. He didn’t want to chew on it at all, really. He just wanted to forget everything and move forward; their trip-ups were growing fewer and farther between, and all things considered, a same-day apology was definitely progress. 

As they cooked their meal together, they were able to laugh a little, and almost forgot how touchy and stressful the day had been.

Everyone else was having a good time despite the drama, milling in and out of the kitchen for snacks and drinks, camped out on blankets on the dining hall floor, where a small speaker played random tunes from a salvaged collection of digital devices. The grand fireplace was stoked and roaring, the laughter and chatter a merry din that filled the big old house. 

Daryl had to admit, the tree they had decorated was some real breathtaking shit, and filled the main floor with the peaceful aroma of fir or spruce or something. Closest thing he’d had as a kid was the little cardboard tree hanging from their rear-view mirror, which he’d put some stickers on and hung from the rungs of Merle’s top bunk. 

Once they brought a slice of apology roast up to Maggie’s room, almost all was forgiven, and after rushing to get more of it for Sasha, Enid and Carl, the pair headed over to their own room to eat at the small table there. 

They’d brought it back from his den on their last run to retrieve any preserves that wouldn’t survive a freeze, and that had been a memorable trip as well. With his books finally stowed on the wall-to-wall shelves they had designed together, there was actually space for it, and it was more comfortable than eating in the common hall or on the stairs or outside in the cold. Paul was so glad that Daryl preferred his company in privacy. Neither of them was much of an extrovert beyond their immediate family.

Daryl wrinkled his nose at the mug of hot spiced wine, but didn’t complain, still acting a little cagey, as he was wont to do after his temper got the best of him. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, and Paul was resigned to that. He could understand it himself. The “typical family shit,” as Daryl had once so aptly put it, could spark in either of them a prickly, withdrawn mood that was sometimes hard to explain or shake. 

Neither of them were great at talking out their feelings, and he was grateful that most of it could go unspoken yet understood. Daryl didn’t have to say anything to make him feel accepted, demonstrating it daily with his gentle proximity, keen, thoughtful eyes and warm hands that automatically smoothed over his tense, rigid muscles. He wasn’t sure he could return the feeling in kind, but he knew better than to press him for discourse.

Daryl was a grown man. If he didn’t want to be there with him, he wouldn’t be. 

They’d made good progress with understanding one another, their differing needs, and where compromises could be comfortably made, both attempted to go the extra mile. Paul avoided asking questions about Daryl’s past, while Daryl fished up plenty about the long list of interests he knew Paul loved to read and talk about, to fill the silence he knew that Paul sometimes found disconcerting. He couldn’t relate, but he knew he could find the quiet he sought ten feet out the gate. He liked learning about his friends, and Paul’s voice was one of the first things he’d liked about him.

Paul liked to be held when grief caught up with him, but Daryl needed to be alone to process his own burdens, to weather the tide of muddied feelings and hobble together a succinct enough explanation that Paul would know it wasn’t his fault. That had taken some time, too, and there were still things neither had shared, as they’d only been living together at Hilltop for two months. 

Daryl had found out that Paul’s father lost custody shortly before being hospitalized with lung cancer, having never smoked a day in his life. Being deprived of a final visit while being forced to switch to an arbitrarily more prestigious school drove a deep wedge between his already manipulative and controlling mother and Paul. He was a homeless runaway for almost a year after that, hitchhiking with truckers and hopping trains all the way from California to Chicago, then swept up into a recovery program that Daryl thought was bullshit since it was “just pot” he’d been busted for (another argument for another day). After that, he was shuffled from one foster home to another until he finally found carers that didn’t try to convert him, and remained with the large and diverse family long enough to reach the age of majority without being sent back to his mother. 

Paul still didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Daryl hoped that he wouldn’t give her a second thought. The only person Paul claimed to really miss was his last counsellor, who’d really helped him learn to want to take care of himself. He wished Daryl could have met her too, just as Daryl wished he had met Denise. 

Daryl still had nothing more to add about his home life after their first night together in Paul’s little basement getaway, but given the gaudy candle with it’s holly-and-mistletoe motif and the festive fixings that accompanied their roast grouse he figured a bit more might come up. 

He still felt so alien sometimes. He’d choke down the red wine with a nod, even though it had been his mother’s go-to, although the orange peel and spices helped to transform the flavour to something aromatic and invigorating, and the heat was nice and warming. He’d never really enjoyed fruitcake either, but seeing how much Paul relished it, he felt his tastes shifting and expanding. It did blend well with the wine, and after helping in the kitchen and learning which little spice-seeds the weird flavours came from, he didn’t find them so weird and disgusting.

Bellies full and hearts still sore, he yearned for their cozy bed to put an end to the turbulent day. Hanging his head over a cleared plate (he’d saved the cranberries for last, Paul didn’t comment on it), the ninja’s chilly hand slipped into his and gave his warm one a squeeze. When he looked up, he was smiling fondly as ever, gentle eyes quiet in the candlelight, propped comfortably on an elbow.

“Thank you,” he said.

Paul was always full of surprises. Daryl was leery of the thanks that he felt was coming in the wrong direction.

“What for? Was a dick to ya’. Don’t deserve that.”

He laughed and shook his head, then shoved his plate away so he could lay his head more comfortably on his arm. He went quiet a moment, and Daryl wondered if he’d really just fallen asleep until he responded in a slow and sleepy voice.

“You came back, though. I was worried you’d be gone for days. Maggie told me about last year.”

Daryl squeezed his hand again, then pulled his away to poke at the other in his lap. Glenn had still been alive a year ago. They all had each other, and Daryl had simply skipped town that week. He didn’t want to see any of it, and he was glad no one had tried inviting him to anything this time around, either.

“Promised not to, though.” His gaze darted from the door to the candle to Paul’s eyes, watching him to the knitted nest of his arms. He stilled his restless leg with a huff. 

Distancing himself from Paul when he was upset only seemed to drag out their suffering, but in the moment he just couldn’t help it. He hated when people saw him upset.

He also hated the conundrum of being happy that Paul gave him all the space he wanted, even though sometimes he didn’t really want it. Sometimes all he wanted was for Paul to come after him, to where he was more comfortable, less claustrophobic, outside the walls, but he never did. Being surrounded by nature always took a load of pressure off, and talking things through wasn’t usually as bad as he feared it would be. Paul never raised his voice, rarely did he even seem to get agitated, and bit by bit he’d pushed through some of Daryl’s walls with kind and patient curiosity alone. 

He felt lighter without those barriers holding all the darkness in, and hoped that Paul would break more of them. He didn’t want Paul to be afraid to push his limits. He didn’t like the part of himself that pushed back and ran. He was finding it harder and harder to be afraid of the things he’d always assumed he would be. He thought those fears had been integral to his self, yet in their wake, he remained. 

Paul straightened up. With a deep breath in and a long exhale, some of the concealed tension melted from Paul’s face and he shook his head, tucking some hair behind his ear. 

“I wish you wouldn’t, but I know you’re trying. I’m grateful.” Paul kind of wished Daryl would just fight him when he got upset; he thought that might hurt less. He knew better than to say it, though. Daryl’s gentleness with his loved ones was one of his best traits.

Daryl shook his head. “I know. Should’ve tried to stay. Wanted to. Was just too much.” 

He glanced up through too-long strands of dark hair, subtle movement in his chin and throat where his emotions thrashed beneath the surface of his cool facade.

Paul chewed his lip, trying to fish up a question that wouldn’t come off as too targeted. 

“Did your family ever celebrate?” 

_Nailed it, Rovia,_ he thought with a wince when Daryl quickly shook his head, tensing and almost visibly retreating within himself again.

Fuck. It was enough of an answer for Paul to offer his own story, to at least better help Daryl understand why he didn’t hold high expectations for the holiday himself.

“The last one we had together, as a family, wasn’t so great. I blamed myself forever. I didn’t know it would be the last,” he shrugged, nervously creasing up his napkin. 

“Dad got me this game I really wanted, Mom thought it was the devil’s handiwork and insisted it go back to the store. They started arguing, yelling, mom shoved him, and so I threw it in the fireplace, hoping to end the argument,” he laughed. Daryl didn’t. 

“It was one of those gas ones, no chimney. They kept flipping out, house was full of this awful plastic smoke, fire alarm went off, cops and firemen came, I hid in the attic all night while half the town combed the woods.” 

Daryl took his hand again. He almost felt sick imagining how much trouble he’d have been in for causing such a scene. 

“I think that was when they realised that we couldn’t be a family anymore,” he concluded with a shrug. Daryl held his gaze, taking in a deep breath just to sigh it out again.

“Would’ve tried harder to be a good kid if I’d known, you know?” 

Daryl saw his eyes brimming with tears again and stood, chair stuttering over the old floorboards. 

“C’mere,” he said, gathering him up tightly as Paul was already rising into his embrace, letting him hide his face against his collar. 

“Wasn’t your fault. Were just a kid.” His chin slotted neatly over the man’s head, and he held him a while. He denied every sniffled apology Paul whimpered, kissed some salty tears away and swept the rest with careful hands into his hair and beard, then nudged him into bed. He cleared the plates, took them downstairs, brought him back some watery juice and held him close well into the night, as much to keep his own memories at bay as to comfort his partner. 

The days would pass, he reminded himself, and with them the nasty holiday season, the cold dark months, the uneasy respite from the walker hordes that kept the pockets of dangerous survivors landlocked in their little sanctuaries, far away from their own walls and families. He tried to keep his breath as slow and even as he could so that Paul wouldn’t know of his unrest.

His own parents had never been all that religious, but they were fervent critics of the commercials on TV that reminded them to harp on just how little they had to spend. They were never short on booze or cigarettes, though, a point he'd swiftly learned to never bring up again. 

He made them cards each year; the teachers made all the students do it, and he liked the colourful paper, the cutting of shapes and gluing them down, with a little gold foil star at the top of the tree. He was often proud of the results, but he rarely actually gave them to his parents, not daring to hope for so much as a kind word in return, as the holiday rituals were surreal and foreign to him and his kin. 

Usually he made out the card to his favourite teacher, or to Merle, or his uncle, or to lay on his grandparents’ graves, but he knew his own father would only sneer some bullshit about tax dollars spent on brainwashin’ children, makin’ sissies out of ‘em. 

It still stung deep in his throat to think about, and after the tale he’d just absorbed, it made him want to hold Paul a little tighter. He couldn’t imagine someone as sweet and funny and smart as Paul being anything but a perfectly happy child, the kind he’d always wished he could be so that maybe people would have loved him more. 

Maybe if Paul hadn’t deserved it, neither had he. 

Paul shifted with a sleepy intake of breath and twisted around in his arms to face him, then prodded his icy nose against his collarbone. 

"Are you going to sleep, or were you planning to weep silently all night?" He laughed it out quietly, but sounded a little stuffed up.

Daryl shrugged and kissed his forehead, staring out the window where inches of snow had piled up on the sill since his return. It had been so pretty in the woods that day, with fat fluffy flakes like he’d never seen in his life floating down through the branches, and he’d turned right around, wishing Paul had chased him down, wanting to run straight home and apologise, just to share the magical event with him. That was when he’d spotted his game, and picked up even more tracks on the way back to hilltop. 

“Those the only options?” He asked after a moment, grazing his scratchy chin over Paul’s cheekbone and lightly brushing his ear with his lips, fully aware of the tingly goosebumps he could cause with the slightest puff of air in the right spot.

Paul shivered appreciatively and took it as permission to kiss him, languidly peppering his freckled breastbone with light, extra-scratchy open-mouthed kisses that made Daryl realize something he’d been staring at all evening, unregistered.

"You shaved."

"Mm-hmm. You didn’t say anything, I figured you hated it." He gave a wet lovebite to his collarbone that made him flinch away with a wisp of a laugh. 

"Didn’t even realize, too busy bein’ a dick. Looks good,” he offered, murmuring a “feels good,” when he felt hot breath on his throat. 

Daryl's eyes shut as the man shifted to kiss and lave at his pulse point, threading fingers through long, silky hair in case he needed to pull him off. He tightened his grasp when Paul started to scrape and suck up a mean welt, breaking him away.

"Don'--"

Paul's mouth covered his lips, sliding his whole body to move over him, and that was more acceptable. Daryl moaned gently around his tongue, and smoothed the dark gold locks against the nape of his neck, holding him there for a long kiss. Paul draped his own firm weight over Daryl’s softer, heavier torso, building up a cozy heat beneath the quilts and pyjamas. Nothing was more comforting to Daryl than his weight pressing down on him, limbs tangled up, bundled up in flannel and clean, living scent. 

His hands smoothed Paul’s shirt over his back until their bodies settled together, arms locked around him. Paul turned his head to the side to rest against his shoulder, and despite the mild arousal throbbing against Daryl’s thigh, relief and fatigue washed over them, and there they slept. 

 

The laughter of children woke them, and Daryl couldn’t be too annoyed; it was the day after Christmas, which had always been his favourite of the season, the day all the candies and toys and colourful string lights went on sale. Half the gifts that got returned or exchanged had an open-box discount on them, too. Whatever money his uncle had snuck to him didn’t typically last long.

“Kill for some chocolate,” he groaned into a damp pillow, while Paul stretched, twisted and popped his joints in front of the window. 

The scout laughed, shaking his head as he turned away from the sight of Carl and Enid engaging the rest of the Hilltop children in a snowball fight. He grabbed Daryl’s feet, bending his knees so his heels pointed towards the ceiling, and climbed onto the bed to kneel behind him, hugging his legs to his chest and tracing his soles with a feather light touch. 

“Still not ticklish,” he grunted, while one of his ankles spasmed. 

“The way you say it tells me you are,” he said, forcing the hunter’s knees apart and flopping on top of his back. 

Daryl hid his face in the pillow as he felt Paul shift until his apparent morning wood was comfortably nestled between his cheeks, hoping he’d drop the tickle thing for something better, but then he felt fingers lightly raking up his sensitive sides. He felt everything inside him recoil and struggled to keep his breathing steady. 

“Don’t.”

Skimming up toward his armpits until he panicked and snapped his arms down against his sides.

“ _Please_ don’t,” his voice wavered as he choked out the plea. 

The smug smile returned to Paul’s face, putting more weight into his touch and kneading his shoulders loose instead. 

“Shouldn’t lie to me, you’re terrible at it. It’s basically like telling the truth, with a side of _go fuck yourself._ ” He tried to nose his way into Daryl’s neck but the man was still all scrunched up like a snapping turtle, so he kissed his shoulder instead and rolled his hips a little.

Daryl grunted, annoyed with his dick for pulsing rapidly to life where it was crushed against the mattress. Then, he remembered something. He tried to buck Jesus off, but he clung like a spider monkey.

“Move. Wanna’ get somethin’.”

“Can’t it wait?” Paul whined with a lewd grind, causing Daryl to balk in surprise.

“Fuckin’ get off!” Daryl laughed, rolling backwards on top of him and pummelling him with elbows until he was released, then vaulting off the bed before the randy little monkey could reattach.

Jesus laughed, hugging his stung ribs and panting, flushed with hair a mess of static, and watched curiously as Daryl went to the closet to pull out his rucksack, the large one reserved for runs. He fished out a box and tossed it to him. It was heavy, and would have beaned him in the teeth if he hadn’t caught it with a firm smack.

“Didn’t have a chance to wrap it. Happy belated birthday, Prick.”

Paul turned it upright in awe, immediately sitting up and taking pocket knife to tape to free what he already knew was inside the factory-sealed kit. He tried to ignore the thought that Daryl had to have braved the un-cleared outlet mall hours away to find it. 

“You’re kidding me. A Nikon.” He was awestruck, taking in the listed attributes on the box while his fingers carefully tore through the packaging and picked the camera and accessories free of their twist-tied cellophane garments. 

“Full high-definition video recording with real-time auto-focus…” his muttering trailed off, finally looking up from the gift, eyes full of wondrous mischief. 

_“Daryl.”_

His voice was practically scolding. The hunter perched on the edge of the bed, smirk plastered across his face. 

“Wanted one o’ those so bad. First entry-level Nikon D-SLR with video. Had an old thirty-five-mil from the eighties, someone traded it to Merle for some crack, but film cost a lot. Was still savin’ when they released it, just before everythin’ went to shit.” 

Paul’s head tilted thoughtfully. “You liked photography?”

Daryl nodded, and shrugged shyly, chewing his lip. “Had some fun with it. It’s for you, though. Said you wanted one.”

“Well. I’d be happy to share it. If,” and he leaned over to kiss his lips ever-so-slowly and airily, “you let me film you.”

Daryl’s face flushed immediately, meeting his stare and knowing exactly what he meant by it. 

“Alright.” He wrung the quiet word from his suddenly parched throat, feeling his pulse hammering hard under the sustained eye contact. He wanted to help Paul make some movies. He wanted to watch them.

Paul’s brows arched immediately, his smirk darkening slightly, the way it had the first time they met, having expected him to put up at least a bit of a fight. He shovelled the device and all its parts to the center of the bed so he could crawl forward to cup Daryl’s face in his hands and kiss the gorgeous man properly.

Daryl returned the kiss gladly, and responded by pulling his legs up onto the bed to get closer to him, looming over him and bulldozing him onto his back with a hungry mouth, bluntly palming the erection that still lingered through the fabric of his pants, resulting in a loud groan.

“Not yet, babe, I want to charge it first,” he whimpered into Daryl’s mouth.

Daryl snorted, butted his forehead affectionately and got up to grab some clean clothes, wondering if he’d damned himself with that stupid gift and stupider promise. With a good half-foot of snow on the roads, it wasn’t like hilltop’s scouting leaders had anything better to do that day.

“Get that tripod from the attic, I gotta’ piss.”

Things weren’t always perfect, but as he rushed up the stairs to fish through dusty boxes of the living history museum’s multimedia equipment, Paul thought they were damn near close enough. 

 

________

 

Stretched out in Jesus’ SUV Limousine in the shady rear of Ken’s Auto and Pawn, one of the Hilltop’s auxiliary safe houses, Daryl and Paul indulged in some air conditioned bliss while the engine idled away, slowly charging their camera and taking a trip down memory lane as they wiped their clips off the memory card. 

They’d re-filled it in a record two months, having moved back into the trailer for the summer, and with Hershel Junior starting on solid foods, they decided it might be kind of them to share the camera. It was ten times better than the small automatic one they’d scavenged for Maggie when he was born, and they now had more footage than either of them could possibly enjoy in one sitting. 

They had already loaded it all onto the laptop, a precariously temporary situation until they could find another thumb drive or ten. 

Daryl was still sad to have to smash the trash button on his favourites, but not sad enough to risk Maggie seeing any of it while showing off photos of the little ankle-biter. Paul kept snickering, his face beet red as they waited for the thumbnails to load and cleared them as quickly as possible, and Daryl couldn’t help feeling a little aroused just seeing the tiny previews, knowing how they had played out.

They didn’t usually watch them _together._

He knocked his shoulder against Paul’s when he unashamedly adjusted the situation in his tight cargo pants, turning away and passing the thing over to him when a small sea of thumbnails of his own face wrapped around Paul’s dick popped up. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You sure we shouldn’t leave her just a few?” He tried to delete faster, causing the device to freeze up momentarily on Daryl’s point-of-view shot of him, legs spread and cradling his spent dick with Daryl fully sheathed inside him. He hid it against his chest and waited, his whole face burning.

He’d definitely gotten past a few of his insecurities. He had to, or he wouldn’t have so many beautiful photos of his partner in exchange, stashed away to enjoy while Daryl was off hunting or helping out with the Alexandria rebuild. 

One thumbnail looked a lot like his own silhouette against the window, a photo he didn’t remember Daryl taking. He looked over just in time to catch the little smile tugging the hunter’s fine lips into a fond arc. 

“Should look for a printer,” Daryl mused, pulling out a cigarette and cracking the window, even though that would achieve little with the temperature in the car ten degrees lower than it was outside. If anything, exhaust was getting in. Paul closed it again with the driver-side controls. 

“I wish,” Paul mumbled, as he zoomed in on his own nude butt before erasing it and moving on with a sigh, still cycling through the larger previews to delete them one at a time. 

More candids of himself that kind of warmed his heart to discover, some creepy shots of cobwebs and corpses that were also clearly Daryl’s, spring flowers, more blowjobs, a hole pic so blurry he couldn’t tell whose it was, a gorgeous shot of Daryl up to his elbows in cow guts with no shirt on, happy as a pig in shit. 

He burned past some tripod scenes of the two of them on the bed where Paul thought he’d put on a little too much weight after a sprained ankle and a bout of winter blues that had made him clam up for weeks. Daryl had cared for him throughout. 

Up until that point, he’d almost always been the one to take initiative, but after a few weeks without much intimacy he was beginning to fear the end was upon them, until Daryl straight up told him he’d always be the most goddamn beautiful man he’d ever seen, and asked to blow him. It was very romantic, and he fell very much deeper into love with his hunter. 

That led to the winter video of Daryl with shorter hair; Maggie had cut it for him. He was wearing nothing more than wrangler jeans and a heart-stopping smile, kneeling between his legs and looking into the camera as he jerked him slowly, lips moving in silent praise until cum spurted up over his face, causing one eye to close.

Daryl shoved him roughly when he played it again. 

“Delete that. It’s in the folder.” 

Daryl knew better than to delete Paul’s videos without consent, despite the temptation when it came to seeing his own face, so strangely asymmetrical in contrast to how it looked in the mirror. He wondered if anyone preferred how they looked in photos; to him it only highlighted his flaws.

The scout sighed through eight nearly-identical photos of his hairy chest, then went into another menu and selected the “format card” option. He was painfully hard, and this was supposed to be Maggie’s run. After the progress bar filled and the available memory reset to 100%, he switched it off and set it down to finish charging, reaching for Daryl’s cigarette and tucking it between his lips while he opened his shirt.

Silence washed over them as the disc they were playing came to a stop, save for the rustling of fabric as Paul flung his shirt over the steering wheel, then pulled the cigarette from his lips to exhale toward the ceiling, eyes fixed on Daryl. Behind him, he depressed a switch, causing his seat to smoothly recline with a low hum, vulgar grin plastered on his face.

Daryl snorted, both hating and loving his goofy antics, taking his cigarette back and clambering over to Paul’s side of the limo’s spacious cabin. The back was loaded up with the last of the boxes from Paul’s burned-out basement hideout, plus the fabric and sewing supplies they’d gathered from an old farmhouse that was delightfully hoarded with dribs and drabs of just about anything reusable, stuff that most people would have thrown away. As he settled astride Paul’s lap, he was reminded of their first time in the dusty rust bucket from Alexandria.

He cracked the window again to tap the ash outside, then leaned down for a kiss.

“Know what I miss?” He implored quietly, drawing more smoke as Paul’s hands crept beneath his bunched-up shirt to send tingles all over his body, his dick giving an aching throb in response to a flicked nipple.

“What’s that?” Paul mooned up at him, thumbing his hard nipples and causing Daryl’s smile to reach his eyes as he directed his smoky exhale toward the cracked window. He leaned forward.

“Chick’n McNuggets,” he whispered into Paul’s mouth before pressing his tongue into it, kissing him through garbled laughter.

“Mmn,” he smacked his lips off Daryl’s after a moment, rubbing his rough chin against his sensitive throat and moaning into his ear, “I’ll be your chicken nugget.” 

He took a meaty chunk of Daryl’s throat between his teeth and felt his laugh rumble against his tongue. Daryl pulled his hair, not to stop him, but to ground him there, grinding against his stomach with an urgent intensity when he felt the lascivious slide and suction of Paul’s mouth.

He hadn’t meant to shear his beard off again, but Daryl had found him a pack of bubble gum, and he’d kind of fallen asleep with a piece in his mouth. It had been getting hot and itchy in the summer heat anyways, and it was so easy to wind Daryl up with the stubble trimmed and velvety. 

Daryl suspected growing it out again gave him something to do; Paul had a lot of obsessive little habits that made him perfectly imperfect, and the meticulous grooming was one of them; even he wasn’t spared from it. Before they were even a thing, he was nonchalantly coming up behind Daryl to give his hair a quick comb-through to sort out his part. 

_How can you even see what you’re shooting for,_ he’d mutter. It had been off-putting at the time, but gradually, it became grounding to be touched so casually. 

And not-as-casually, he thought, as he rose up on his knees and pulled two fistfuls of flaxen hair toward his hips until he felt a freshly-shorn chin scrape against his tightening balls. His climax was near boiling over, and he had no plans to draw things out; he could tell Paul was working some magic to bring him off in a timely manner, gripping his ass roughly with strong fingers and swirling his balls in the palm of his other hand. He had a lot to say about it, none of it intelligible.

Daryl was a feast for which Paul had hungered all his life; generous enough in length to hit every sweet spot, and just a little thick in the middle. For someone who’d, for so long, so artfully, or maybe obliviously, dodged his advances, he showed no hesitation now in indulging his thirst whenever he asked. 

If he could only breathe dick, he sighed wantonly, nails notched deep into quivering thighs to push off just enough for air, noisily lapping and sucking the slippery wet skin at the base of his cock while he caught his breath. Daryl’s reverent whimpers were like music every time. 

It felt nice to be appreciated, to be wanted, filled and smothered and even loved. 

After Daryl had hungrily returned the favour, sticky sweat fastened their fused bodies to the leather upholstery where they spooned, cramped along the narrow reclined seat, soaking in just a moment’s rest. They shared the rest of the cigarette, watching the flycatchers pick through the blossoming branches for the insects that filled the canopy with a lazy buzz.

Daryl lightly toyed with his chest, skimming over coarse hair and plump, spent nipples, drawing up trails of tingles, until the camera beeped, fully charged. After a sleepy, tender kiss, they peeled apart and dressed. 

It was time to make their delivery to Queen Carol, who had quite a few sewing projects lined up to keep her hands busy, and after that, yet another wedding with a long list of preparations in the queue. 

 

________

 

“You said, when we met, that our world was about to get a whole lot bigger.”

“Was I right?” 

“Kinda’,” he shrugged, rubbing his chin on his shoulder.

Paul studied his face, a pang of guilt in his gut. Even after a year, it was hard to talk about the battles they’d survived, difficult to accept the bloody storm of violence and death that had caused their worlds to collide in the first place. 

“Got a whole lot lighter, too.” 

Paul looked down, away, wondering how that could even be possible. 

“How so?”

Daryl shrugged again. “You were in it, I guess. Feel bad that we fucked it up, sometimes.”

“You didn’t.” Paul’s voice took on an icy tone that made Daryl flinch inside. He shook his head, afraid to meet his eyes for some reason.

“We sucked you into our fight, jumped the gun. If we’d hung back, played our cards right, maybe some of our people would still be here. Some of yours, too.”

Paul wrung his hands where they hung over the barrier. 

“Maybe. Or maybe we had already lost one too many to actually live with it. None of us wanted to live in constant fear, barely scraping by only to give up half of it, and we don’t have to live like that anymore. Your people taught ours how to fight, to defend our own. We were all ready to die for this. Well, most of us.” A frayed rope still hung from the oak tree.

Daryl chewed his lip for a minute in silence. Paul leaned into him to create the slightest contact, shoulder to shoulder, to let the warmth of his presence be felt. He wanted to steer Daryl away from the past; there was still plenty left to worry about that could actually be changed. 

“Are you nervous?”

Daryl nodded quickly without even thinking, shocking even himself with the immediate openness. He’d barely slept all night, mulling over the drama that came up every time he went back to Alexandria, and the row he’d had with Officer Grimes the last time the man had pitched Negan’s release, even if only contingent on the unlikely event of Alexandria being swarmed. It was still hard to focus on any celebration with that monster lurking in the cellar. Letting out a tense breath, hanging his head over his limp arms, and then against Paul’s, he tried to tamp it all down and wring a few moments of peace from what would become a hectic day.

They watched the birds chase flies and drink dew in the fields and woods, listening to the sleepy morning bustle from the lookout over hilltop, waiting on the watchtower for sunrise to peel the damp from the roads, for the right moment to kiss and part ways, though Daryl could have rode out already.

It had been a busy week, and anxiety was gnawing Daryl’s ribs bare from the inside. Maggie needed Jesus’ help, or simply preferred it, to get to the Kingdom in comfort with her closest companions, and Daryl was needed back in Alexandria, mainly because Rick said so, and he couldn’t say no to his brother. 

It was a big day, and it would be a long night, and he was glad there was no suspicion raised by their parting ways for the morning. He also kind of had his own agenda.

Daryl waved it away, and so Jesus slowly ashed out in the knot of the fencepost that had been bored into a smooth black hole, etched by that same action over the months they’d often shared their watch. He pushed out of the lazy lean that had settled over them with a yawn and a stretch that landed around Daryl’s shoulders and pulled him into an exhausted, swaying hug. Daryl kissed his hair.

“Ya’ got a few hours to nap. Seeya’ ‘round noon?”

“Mm-hm. Thanks for helping me clean.” Another peck was met on the lips. 

The limo shone like a gem. On an occasion like today’s, Daryl could appreciate the choice, though from the start he’d simply been glad that Jesus didn’t want a bike like his; wasn’t as safe.

“Mess was mostly mine.” It wasn’t a lie; he’d bagged at least a dozen cigarette boxes when they cleared out all the trash. The whole nicotine-gum-thing really hadn’t panned out, actually made him fiend more than ever for the smokes, and they almost passed as currency for some of the residents of Hilltop. The fact that Paul had started picking up his bad habit was enough to make him cut back more than ever; down to two or three a day, and he planned to try quitting again. Someday. 

Daryl tailed him down the stairs as Sasha walked up to take over their watch, grinning and thrusting his helmet into his arms.

“Safe ride, Dixon.”

“Yes. Take care, angel.” Jesus kissed his cheek and grinned when Daryl shouldered him off, watching him scrunch up his nose at the headpiece he’d tried to hide in the barn, next to the riding helmets.

He split a glare between Jesus and Sasha, then pulled it over his head with a grunt and left. 

 

When he arrived at Alexandria, Gabriel was waiting for him, close to Tara, who stood watch on the guard tower. She waved to Daryl briefly as the priest took leave of her to greet the hunter.

“Are you ready for the big day, Mr. Dixon?”

Daryl sniffed, and shrugged, as he lay his helmet on his motorcycle, leaving it parked near the gates. 

“‘Bout as ready as I’ll ever be.” Nervous eyes rose to the pastor’s as he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and straightened them out, waiting for Gabriel to take the lead. 

“How’s Rick been?”

“About as excited for you as he is himself, I’m sure. Were you still planning to wait until you get to the Kingdom?” Gabriel’s smile was broad and genuine, with the usual frantic gleam behind his eyes. 

Daryl’s distaste for the plans were impossible to conceal. 

“Don’t know,” was all he could mumble. The thought of asking Paul to marry him in front of everyone, at his brother’s wedding, well, it was a little over the top if not downright tacky. It had been Rick’s idea, obviously, and the man seemed more excited for it than for his own vows, like he was desperate to give some kind of speech about it. Michonne had simply seemed quietly amused, not wanting to burst his bubble but suggesting exactly what Daryl felt; that she wouldn’t mind one bit, but that it might be a bit showy for such a private couple. 

It didn’t do much to dampen Rick’s eagerness to play puppet master.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to commit to being with Paul, wasn’t opposed to the idea, but if Paul hadn’t joked about eloping more than once, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Daryl until Gabriel lectured him about ‘living in sin,’ a phrase that made him bristle and heat up a bit until he realised he was referring to the whole sex-outside-wedlock thing, not the ploughing-thy-same-sex-neighbour thing.

Hell, the thought that the guy was so eager to marry two men was kind of endearing. And he really, really wanted to call Paul his husband. There just hadn’t been a good opportunity yet, and he was definitely tired of waiting. He already knew that Paul just wanted something humble and relatively private, that alone was reason enough not to make a scene.

He really didn’t want to disappoint Rick, but when Gabriel stopped him a few yards short of the Grimes household to speak close in confidence, he realised he wasn’t doing a great job of hiding his disinterest in following the script. 

“Daryl, if you’re not ready, there’s no rush. If you want me to talk to him, I’m sure he’ll understand. What’s important is that you’re there to witness his big day. He’s just excited to have you involved, and wants to honour your presence in some way.”

Daryl nodded, shook his head, nodded, shrugged, staring at his feet, then glanced towards the bustling household as he gnawed his lip, weighing his options. Michonne had already gone ahead to the Kingdom two days prior, so that Carol could help with the dress and the catering. After Jesus delivered Maggie and Hershel Junior, along with the flowers and produce they’d been cultivating all spring, he’d be coming by to collect the rest of them in his vehicle. He still had a few hours to dress and think about it. 

 

“Thank you so much for your help, Jesus. Take your time and be safe, we probably won’t be ready for a few hours.”

“I’m happy to, you just worry about Michonne, alright?” He went in for a sleepy hug, sweat spots already appearing in the green tee he wore as a placeholder for the pressed shirt that still hung in the car. 

Maggie embraced him tightly before grasping his shoulders at arm’s length to look him over fondly, carefully adjusting a strand of hair before her tight-lipped smile breached critical mass. Carol walked up behind her, gently bouncing a bubbly babbling Hershel Junior, who lifted his arms expectantly for Paul to take him. Maggie gathered him up instead and Jesus leaned in to place a kiss on the crown of his head before he bounded back to the still-running vehicle, waving to the rest, knowing he’d be returning soon with the rest of the guests. 

Michonne and her wedding party smiled after him, waiting for the moment the gate shut behind the car. Carol looked to Ezekiel, stony-faced, and he signalled to Jerry, who went inside to place an important call. 

Maggie’s smile fell in confusion. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

Caryl’s sour poker face couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eye. 

“Rick called. He thinks you should be there.”

Maggie scrunched her face in the glaring sun, perplexed. “How come? Is somethin’ wrong?”

“We won’t know until Daryl pops the question. Either way, you might want to tail him with Sasha. Rick thinks Jesus would want you there. Gabriel’s been on standby all morning.” 

Maggie’s eyes bulged, turning to meet Sasha’s sidelong glance.

“What? Today? Can’t it wait?”

“Actually, it was Rick’s idea. He’s been pushing Daryl to propose at dinner, practically counting on it.” Michonne butted in with a sardonic smile. “I tried to tell him.”

“Can’t see him doing that in front of all those people,” Maggie mused quietly. 

“Exactly,” Sasha nodded. “This would be a little more low-key, a little more his style. What about you, Carol? Shouldn’t you be there?”

The Queen turned to her King, leaning into his embrace as he approached to put an arm around her. Her stance grew resolute when he placed a gentle kiss on her cheekbone.

“There’s already a tissue shortage, and I’ve got enough on my plate today. They’ll be here later, I can congratulate them then. If you want, I can—well, Jerry can, watch Hershel for you. I’ve still got a lot to do.” She nodded, tears already stinging her eyes. 

Maggie bowed her head, not about to push the matter, placing another kiss on Hershel Junior’s head and steeling herself for their already busy day to get a lot busier. 

“We’d better get going, then,” said Sasha. 

Maggie straightened, and nodded. “I’ll be sure to take a few pictures, alright?”

Carol’s expression softened at that. “Thank you.” 

“Rick said he’d meet you at the gate. Hey there, little buddy!” Jerry lumbered forward to gather the child in his burly arms, and Ezekiel guided them to the vehicle they had already prepared.

When they arrived at the faded blue econoline and watched Maggie and Sasha climb in, Michonne turned to Carol, eyes warily reproachful.

“Carol, are you sure?” 

The woman sniffed wetly and nodded again, fiercely, then shook her head again.

When she glanced up to him, red-eyed, Ezekiel silently braced her with a strong palm to the small of her back, giving Michonne his brightest smile. 

“By your leave, Michonne, if it won’t be too disruptive.”

The bride-to-be seemed satisfied with the decision, smiling back with an eager gleam. 

“The Queen and her King shouldn’t travel without protection. I’ll need my sword.”

 

 

Back in Alexandria, Rick had been groomed since sunrise, and calmly adjusted his fitted suit in a full-length mirror. 

Daryl was, by contrast, a flustered mess, scowling at the selection of shirts laid out for him on Rick’s bed and feeling like a total shit because he really wanted to call off all the scheming and just focus on helping Rick. Tara and Rosita weren’t helping by disagreeing on whether red or blue was “Daryl’s” colour.

Rick wasn’t helping either by not needing Daryl’s help at all. He looked smug as all hell, watching the two women ramp up his tension with every press of a different shirt over the sweaty, crumpled green one they’d tried and failed to fasten over his bulky chest. He was so red Rick was starting to think he might burst into flames, and when Daryl finally glanced up to him through sweaty bangs, he interjected out of pity.

“Daryl. Just try all of them, and decide which ones fit first. You look your best when you can move comfortably without ripping the sleeves clean off.”

“He’s got a point, you make this face when you’re, um,” Tara coughed, when Daryl stared her into shutting up, looking kind of constipated. 

“That’s the one. The blue’s going to fit across the shoulders, we can take it in at the sides, but try the black one first,” Tara ordered, placing both stiffly starched articles into his arms and trying to corral him into the bathroom while Rosita raged behind them, waving a red-and-white flannel with mother-of-pearl snaps instead of buttons.

“This isn’t a funeral! At least try this one. Everyone loves your country boy charm.”

“Yer both nuts,” Daryl grunted, swelling with discomfort, and snatched Rosita’s choice through the cracked door before locking them out for a breather.

He splashed some cold water on his face, patting it down, one eyelid twitching with fatigue and stress. His own expression, like a wild-eyed fox in a trap, took him by surprise. 

He was a legitimate fucking mess, unsure if minutes or hours had passed since stepping into the bustling household. 

Even before the turn, he’d never set foot inside a change room. He hated mirrors. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine, and where his hair wasn’t plastered in an ugly formation against his shiny red face it was frizzed up from all the fabric that had been pulled over it in the last ten minutes. He breathed in deep and exhaled while counting, like Paul had taught him, and did his best to avoid looking himself in the face and focus on the task at hand. 

He looked like he was hiding several bags of corn chips under the blue one, and couldn’t picture the sleeves looking that great even if it wasn’t a parachute around the waist. His arms moved comfortably, but all the air trapped beneath the navy blue tent was hotter than hell after mere moments of taking in every horrid angle. It kind of felt like plastic, too.

The black one was all cotton at least, but it was a little tight between the shoulder blades when he hunched and he knew it would be giving him trouble as soon as he was sat down for ten minutes. He could probably tough it out if he had to. 

The flannel had a little more give, and made him do a bit of a double-take when he turned. 

He’d never seen his waist look like this, with soft fabric gathered perfectly in all the right curves, except in his armpits, where the bunching bothered him the most. He was almost as slim as Paul in profile when sucking it in, and wondered why he hadn’t gone digging through Rick’s closet sooner. It was actually cool and comfortable and soft, so much so he wanted to put it on Paul just to cuddle up with him. That thought stirred up a storm of butterflies in his gut, and he tried to push out any thoughts of Paul until he had his look sorted out. 

There had been a similar one of the same make, without the obnoxious rust-on-cream grid pattern, which was a little too country, even for Rick’s wedding, so he nervously cracked the door. 

“C’n I try the green one?”

Tara tilted her head, because he’d gone in wearing it. Rick snatched the muted grey-green shirt with the subtle teal-and-gold stitching from beneath the gross burgundy satin joke and tossed it toward the outstretched hand that poked through the door.

Rosita gave Tara her cattiest smile, knowing she had won, but Tara wasn’t upset. It would complement the turquoise bolo tie, and had secretly been their first choice from the get-go. They held hands and hoped he wouldn’t reject it because of the small embroidered rose motif on the single breast pocket.

He didn’t. 

 

Jesus stepped into the chapel for the first time in months. The last time he'd been there, it was missing an entire wall, with another caving in from fire damage, stained glass shards scattered in the charred ruins. He knew Daryl had been helping with the reconstruction, but hadn't appreciated the scope of their work until this moment.

From the outside, the expansion and repairs were made seamless by fresh paint. Inside, it still smelled of newly-cured wood and varnish. The floors shone, and humble salvaged lead glass panes flanked a simple cross behind the altar. 

Daryl looked up from where he sat in one of the dimly lit pews, and stood. 

Paul had never seen him with his hair half-up before. He looked trim in well-fitting, dark jeans and a soft, sea-green flannel. The belt, black leather and gold, matched the shoes and the bolo tie, and the thought of Rick dressing him, and Daryl actually allowing it, stirred up a flutter of warmth in his chest. 

He seemed apprehensive, despite the small smile with which he greeted the scout, moving up the aisle to meet him halfway.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He pressed his forehead to Daryl's, a little tired from the drive. Daryl welcomed the gesture, lifting a hand to touch his cheek, a light brush of noses passing for a kiss.

"Like it?" The hunter flicked his head minutely, indicating the building in general, trying to divert the attention from himself.

Paul smiled, breaking the contact to take Daryl's hand and walk the nave towards apse, stopping at the crossing and taking in the space.

"Can't believe it's the same place," he nearly yawned, not meaning to. It was breathtaking in its quiet simplicity. And cool, and dark. Part of him wished they could nap together right there on the floor.

He looked over inquisitively when Daryl came to a stop. The air felt electric despite the roaring silence. 

"Daryl?" 

Steel blue eyes flicked down as he awkwardly rustled in one of his pockets. He took a deep breath.

"Been meanin' t'ask you somethin'."

He grasped both of Paul's hands in his before he got down on one knee.

"Oh my God, Daryl.” 

It struck him, almost physically, what was happening, and it took a moment for Paul to find his breath again, whimpering a quiet _fuck_. His hands were actually shaking.

Daryl held them tighter, and didn't stop Paul from sinking to his knees as well, waiting for him to gather himself before he spoke.

"Told ya' I loved you, once. It was," he swallowed, flicking his head even though no hair hung in his eyes, before clearing his throat, "the hardest goddamn thing I've ever done, and I've done a lot.”

Paul struggled to keep a straight face, nodding, because he still remembered it, a treasonous tear tumbling from his eye when he blinked. 

“Didn't even have the guts to say it first. That was all you. I didn't think it would change me like it did, but you forced me to face it. That I'm in love with ya' and I always will be. I wanna be your husband."

Through tears, Paul just nodded, laughing at his own overreaction in shaky puffs. It wasn't a joke this time, though, ringing in his ears and echoing in hot flashes of shame and insecurity. 

He could only marvel at Daryl's courage, his voice quaking the whole time in contrast to the nonchalant hang of his shoulders. Daryl smoothed his knuckles and toyed with his fingers, as though they were his own.

"Just think it's worth a shot, even if it don't work out. Right now, I want you to know I'm yours, if you'll have me."

"Yes, Daryl, please," he breathed, falling forward to hug him.

"Yea?" Daryl felt a warm wash of relief. His whole body was hot and shaky and cottony from the big speech, and felt like it might float away if not for Paul's arms around him. It wasn't nearly everything Rick had told him to say, but he felt he could afford a breath or two, seeing as how Paul was in the midst of a meltdown.

"Yeah," he gasped, pressing the cuffs of his white shirt to his eyes and sniffing wetly. "Fuck," he laughed.

"Right now?"

That drew Paul's red-tinged eyes to his, glassy sea-green and beautiful.

He nodded. "Yeah." 

The rings were warm from being held when Daryl took his hand and dropped them into his palm. Worn silver bands that almost matched, one being slightly larger, the insides engraved with an arrow and a dagger. 

He’d never dared to hope for a moment like this, never even to daydream about it, but he could no longer disregard the idea as silly. It hadn’t been silly at all.

For Paul, it acknowledged the fact that they always had each other’s backs, as much an expression of trust as a promise, coming from Daryl, who tried not to fidget while he turned them over with careful fingers.

"Sorry if they're-"

"They're perfect."

And just as he felt his composure return, Paul saw Daryl crack, chin trembling as he knelt forward to bump heads with the scout. He stood and pulled the man onto his feet for a suitably tight embrace, followed by a very long kiss, ignoring the creak of a door until the snap of a shutter broke the spell.

"Gabriel's ready whenever you are," Maggie spoke softly, taut lips sealing back a surge of delight, and when Paul saw her there, and saw the rest of them pouring in, he just about hit the floor. 

 

________

 

Paul’s cheeks ached from laughing, watching the revellers from the bandstand where he worked his fingertips raw on the strings with the rest of the Kingdom’s performers. 

There had been several practises already that week, plus a private lesson from Eric with Daryl and Aaron in attendance, which had actually been really fun. After the bride and groom shared their first dance, they played through most of their repertoire, now growing eager to pass the mic on to Jerry. He had a sound system powered up, and a playlist of requests ready to go, thanks to Eugene’s software expertise and Paul’s own experience as a roadie.

The event had drawn groups from every community, and theirs hadn’t been the only impromptu exchange of vows. A couple from Oceanside had also tied the knot that morning, another from Hilltop, and two more from the Kingdom lingered in the pews for their chance to receive Gabriel’s blessing, once the chapel had cleared out behind Rick and Michonne. 

The pair were touched that their wedding had evolved into something so unifying within their little nation of communities, and for most it was a spectacle beyond imagination. It was the first time any of them had seen a bridal gown tailored to complement a katana, or a flower girl accompanied by a tiger. Daryl had never felt such pride, and he could see that Rick felt the same. 

Paul's hands and voice worked autonomously as he pored over the crowd, hypervigilant even in the celebratory atmosphere. He took in the smiles and the loving gestures all around, the apprehensive stances of those keeping watch so the raucous din could continue, the bittersweet stillness of their monarchs who remained at the high table with Maggie and Sasha, supervising the smaller children so they wouldn’t get underfoot, and directing the security detail who reported like clockwork. 

He watched proudly from above as his husband did an exemplary job of tolerating all the bodies bumping into him, accepting a hugs and handshakes with an attractive smile, and letting Tara clown him around the dance floor.

It was Daryl’s first time dancing with anyone, but the ring he wore felt like a protective charm, dispelling any awkwardness or pressure he may have had without it. Having downed a couple glasses of wine helped as well, and it didn’t hurt that he knew the guards were trained and directed by Carol herself. She seemed relaxed enough, occasionally raising a hand to her ear and speaking into the headset she wore. In the moment, it felt safe for him to share some of the affection he felt for his family. 

He was terrible at dancing, but so were they. Even Rosita had a good laugh trying to direct his helpless toes, and ended up using him as more of a meat shield against some of the drunks on the broad patio, until Tara came back from her fifth washroom break to cut in. 

His attention immediately went back to Paul, who beckoned him with his eyes alone, mouthing the word ‘water’. He retrieved a bottle and popped in a straw, weaving over to the low stage and holding it up so Paul could crouch on one knee and drink without taking his hands off the instrument.

Paul didn’t stand again until he received a kiss, and it took Daryl a moment to realise that was what he wanted before he shyly obliged. 

There were a few hoots and claps, and Daryl didn’t even want to know who they had come from. 

He didn’t care, because Paul was smiling so beautifully because of him. He waited for the song to wrap up, for Paul to stand his instrument up on a chair, take a bow and hop down into his arms, to hold him close and to have the one dance he’d been waiting for all evening, even though he didn’t know how. 

 

The sun set far too quickly, and the activity had wound down, caravans to the settlements readying for departure after one last round of group photos. Hershel had started to fuss, so they were quick to leave after a round of fierce hugs to see them off. Daryl was grateful for the early ticket home, both elated and exhausted. 

Sasha had taken the role of designated driver from Paul, because it had been his wedding day, too, and it had only taken one generous glass of wine to have him tripping over himself. With Maggie and Hershel Jr. riding shotgun, and the others spending the night at the Kingdom, they had the rear cabin to themselves. 

Once they hit a long, dark stretch of road, he crawled onto the floor, to lay on his back under the tinted skylight, one of the selling points he felt made up for the fuel inefficiency. On their longer runs, it was where they slept.

“Come on.” He reached weakly for Daryl, who had melted obstinately into the Naugahyde, and seemed to think that nudging Paul’s foot with his own was an acceptable attempt.

“No. For real, ‘spretty,” he slurred quietly. It really was, moonlit wisps of cloud and stars and silhouettes of trees rolling by.

“You’re pretty,” Daryl mumbled, making no move to stir his weary limbs from rest.

Paul smiled, his eyes closed for a minute. 

“Please?”

Daryl stiffly obliged, the strain of the day still ringing through his aching body as he slid to the floor and settled. Excitement fluttered inside him the moment he felt a warm arm snake around his to twine with his fingers, firm weight on his shoulder, and soft hair pressed against his cheek. Daryl put his lips to his husband's temple. 

Paul blindly plucked a flower from Daryl's hair that Judith had snuck there earlier, and tickled his nose with it. Daryl took it and tucked it into his beard.

Knowing the women could see them on the monitor, they behaved. The drive passed in serene silence, and Hilltop had bedded down by the time they returned, greetings from the watch hushed and brief because the baby slept.

Paul carried him piggyback to their trailer, up the stairs and over the threshold, proving that he wasn't as heavy as he looked. Daryl hollered when he gracefully toppled them backwards into the bed, and kept him there to prove he was stronger and better at wrestling. Once he'd twisted around in his arms, Paul rewarded him with a long kiss. 

"Wait a minute," Paul broke away from his lips, "I need to wash up, for real."

"Do it after," the hunter implored, tugging his belt loose, and the shirt from where it was tucked into the waist of his pants. 

The scout purred, "you want me all sweaty?" 

He freed Daryl's tie from the collar of his shirt, and used it as a lead, pulling him toward the bare chest he'd revealed.

"Mh." 

He did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone order a lot of fluff? 
> 
> I'm free, free... thank you so much for reading all of this! I would change so much, looking back, if I thought it was worth it to fix it up, but there's really no plot, and I'm just too excited to move on. MAYBE an AU, maybe something silly. We'll see. 
> 
> I knew the last chapter would take longer to wrap things up satisfactorily, but I never thought it would take this long. It grew and grew. I'm so grateful for the sweet and thoughtful comments. I'll try to reply in the next few days, but if it weren't for you this never would have seen the light of day. Thanks from the bottom of my heart. I love you all very much.


End file.
